Page 14 of Charmed

Coffee in hand, she paused in the doorway to her workshop. The large space off the kitchen used to be an attached sunroom and had been converted to an atrium-like area for all things potion-related. Two of the exterior walls were floor-to-ceiling windows with shelves housing pots of medicinal plants. Brick back-splashed the other shelving unit against the house, which were methodically labeled with pre-made tonics, oils, and scents. Just below a glassed-in ceiling, beams ran the length and bunches of dried herbs hung by the stems.

Hers. All hers. Heaven.

She set her cup on the long, waist-high station table in the center of the room and moved to the corner cabinet. Pulling out what she needed, she checked the iron cauldron in the stone hearth. It was large enough she could crawl inside and, thankfully, she'd had the contractor raise the opening so she didn't have to stoop. She always cleaned after every use, but habit was habit. As expected, it was residue-free to her satisfaction.

Mentally measuring for an enormous batch, she calculated the lotion products for Bedknobs & Broomsticks that were running low and got into her zone. She dropped shea butter, jojoba and coconut oil, plus beeswax into the cauldron, then set the fire to low. Since heat would fill the workshop quickly, she pried open the screen door and turned on the exhaust fan before snatching a spoon from the mantel rack.

She stirred the pot, gaze wavering as her thoughts drifted. Despite effort otherwise and irking her to no end, Riley's image came to mind. Bad enough he'd been lodged in her head half the night, but he wanted to occupy her day, too?

Goddess, but that look on his face when they'd been marked. Deer-in-headlights meets I'm-up-shit-creek. Arrogance and confidence had always straddled a fine line in her life, but one reaction from Riley, and she'd felt like an unwanted ugly duckling.

Every single red-blooded male she'd encountered since puberty turned into a tongue-tied, struck-stupid, card-carrying member of the idiot club in her presence. Whether it was her beauty, her voice, her body, or simply the way she carried herself, she'd never had to work at seduction. To think, she'd been bitching just last week how bored she'd been with the tedium.

Why should it matter if Riley stood his ground? That he didn’t let her get away with jack squat? Worse, that he was attracted to her, but didn't want to be. There was an entire ocean of other fish in the sea. She didn't even have a desire to be with him. Why was she letting a man—a Meath, no less—get to her?

Because he saw through her facade, that's why. Heck, he'd been the only one to attempt the feat. He may notice all her attributes, but he wasn't swayed by them. For the first time in her life, she couldn't influence somebody to her bidding. The rejection stung and, really, she just wasn't used to being dismissed.

"I have swords in my collection that are smaller than that spoon."

Crap buckets. Could she get any peace?

She glanced at Riley leaning against the doorframe, too attractive for his own good. Figured he wore a charming grin right along with jeans and a gray tee. Which did not do anything to emphasize his lean, muscular build. Much. He had a laptop bag slung over his shoulder like he planned on sticking around and the sun's rays highlighted his ebony, messy strands.

Focusing on the cauldron, she attempted to recall what he'd said. "I feel the need to point out that most guys who collect phallic symbols are usually trying to make up for inadequacies."

There. Take that, sexy beast.

"Babe, I assure you, my phallic's not inadequate." His voice dipped to a panty-melting, ovary-clenching low. "Do we need to play show and tell?"

Tempting, especially when he called her babe. He tended to do it when royally mad or emphasizing a statement, and seemed completely unaware he used the moniker. "If you have to tell after you show, you just proved me right."

He laughed and shoved off the frame, striding into the room. "One day, I'll win an argument with you, Fi."

Sigh. That, too. More often than not, he shortened the version of her name. It was something unerringly personal that no one else on the planet did. She wished she could hate it instead of it giving her the warm fuzzies.

"I wouldn't hold your breath if I were you." She jutted her chin. "I change my mind. Hold your breath."

He grunted and peeked into the cauldron. "What are you doing?"

"Solving the energy crisis. You?"

"No, really. That smells good. What is it?"

"A base for lotion. The shop's low." His woodsy scent rose over that of the ingredients, meaning he was way too close for comfort. "Why aren't you at the office?"

"Working from home today." He lifted his gaze to hers. All that gray-green framed by thick, dark lashes. Criminal. "I came to check on you."

How...nice. "As you can see, I'm good. Your uncle hasn't scaled the security gate, made his way up here, broken through the magical ward, and gotten inside the house to kill me."

"Not what I meant, Fi." His sobering, unusually serious gaze held hers. After a long pause, he wrapped his fingers around her forearm and raised it, wrist turned so the trinity knot faced her. "I wanted to check on you."

Oh. Well, now what? She didn't have a witty comeback for that one. "It is what it is. We don't have a choice."

He nodded slowly. "And if you had a choice, it would be anyone but me."

The nerve, giving her that wounded expression and making her belly sink. "I'm pretty sure I would've remembered saying that."

"You didn't have to. It's written all over your face."

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