Page 29 of Spellbound
“Not in the way you mean it. We’re magical beings, and don’t carry that many diseases. Especially viruses. We can still get sick—like Rosalyn with her cancer—although that’s pretty unusual. Especially for her to have it twice. It’s almost like some kind of corruption, but that can’t be it.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s Rosalyn. She’s not a fucking warlock.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.” His tone was abrupt and hard—like mine probably would have been if he’d accused my grandmother.
“No need to get mad about it. You just know her better than I do.”
He gave me a look and got out of bed to go in the bathroom. I lay there drowsing a little as he came back in with a warm washcloth to clean me up. His face was still stubborn looking, but he was gentle with me and dropped a kiss on the head of my cock as he finished.
“Now,” he said, smiling down at me. “Get dressed while I cook us a steak.”
“I can help.”
“No need I have it all under control. You get dressed and come talk to me and drink some wine. Your job is to look pretty.”
I snorted, “Pretty, hell. I’m a man.”
“Doesn’t mean you’re not pretty.” And with that he pulled on his jeans, pulled his shirt back over his head and went into the kitchen.
Chapter Ten
“Stop all that blubbering,” said the witch. "It won't do you a bit of good."
~Hansel and Gretl, aGrimm’s Fairy Tale
I wound up spending the night, though we didn’t do much talking after all. He pan-fried the steaks, which were delicious. And he had already baked the potatoes in the microwave. I made us a salad, and we sat at the bar to eat and drink wine. Mostly, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other, and as soon as we loaded the dishwasher, we wound up going back to his bed. At some point, way in the night, his cell phone rang, and it must have been Rosalyn, wanting to know if I was with him. He told her I was, and I turned over and went back to sleep.
When I woke up, with the sun streaming in the windows, the smell of coffee led me out to the kitchen. He was at the stove and turned to look at me as I came out.
I came up behind him and slipped my arms around his waist. “You should have woke me up.”
“You looked too peaceful. Besides, it’s just eggs and sausage. Sit down and have some.”
“Oh, I don’t usually eat breakfast.”
“That’s why you’re so thin,” he said, setting a plate down on the counter in front of me. “Eat that.”
“And if I don’t want to?”
He leaned over and gave me a long, toe-curling kiss. “You’ll do it anyway,” he whispered against my lips. “I want to talk to you again after breakfast, and you’ll need your strength.”
“Talk about what?” I said, taking a bite to humor him.
“Now that you’re not being oppressed by that curse—which we still have to talk about, by the way—I want you to tell me about your mother’s death.”
I put down my fork and glared at him.
He simply leaned over and kissed me again, ending with a bite of my bottom lip.
“Ow! What was that for?”
“For sticking out that bottom lip in a pout. You look about five when you do that.”
“Thanks a lot.”
