Page 3 of Charmed

Him: Hook. Line. Sinker.

Her: Survey. Suggest. Seduce.

Him: Faceplant.

Finally, he turned into the alley between storefronts and parked in one of two spaces behind the gray clapboard building. Her car wasn't there, and so help him God, if she'd taken off for home without an escort, he'd...

Well, he'd probably cave to whatever technique she used against him. At least he could be honest with himself, even if she refused to do the same.

Exiting the car, he strode in the humid heat of mid-June toward the front of the store, attempting to keep his mad activated. Gulls cried in the distance and brine scented the air. His white polo and gray slacks clung to his sticky skin with every step, but as the tourism board director for Six Fates Island, it was his uniform. Soon, he'd go for a swim up at his mansion on the bluff, then throw on lighter clothing.

If he wasn't in jail for manslaughter.

He jerked open the glass-paneled door to Bedknobs & Broomsticks, and got blasted by a swift wave of AC as he stomped inside. Some kind of incense burned his nostrils. To the left and right, floor-to-ceiling birch shelves held lotions, soaps, candles, and potions. The walls were painted a seafoam green, except the ceiling, which was navy with stars peeking through black walnut braches the sisters had affixed. The center of the small-ish space had a seating area with celestial-patterned settees.

Straight ahead, a guy wearing a red and white striped baseball uniform leaned his forearms on the counter, his back to Riley. Partially in view behind the register was Fiona, elbows on the glass display case, chin in her palms, and all but nose-to-nose with the customer.

At the jingle of the door, she slanted to the left, glanced at Riley over the dude's shoulder, narrowed her eyes, and slid right back into her original position without so much as a shift of her waist-length cocoa locks.

Ignore him, would she?

Arms crossed, Riley strode up to the end of the counter, glaring at the pair all up in each other's business, nothing but a display case between their lower halves. She wore one of her custom skin-tight, lung-collapsing dresses in a shade of red as deep as her plush lips. The swells of her ample breasts were playing a game of peek-a-boo with the neckline. And winning.

He cleared his throat and ran his tongue over his teeth.

Batboy turned his dishwater head and regarded Riley before facing her once more, the brim of a cap in his hand. "Boyfriend?" He looked a good ten years their junior, putting him somewhere around barely legal.

She rolled her eyes. Out loud. "He couldn't handle me."

True story. "We need to chat, Fi. Immediately."

"Sure he's not a boyfriend?” Batboy's brows lifted. “He seems awfully territorial."

"Huh." Riley feigned surprise. "A five-syllable word. Your conquests are getting smarter, Fi. Pardon me while I pass out."

"Ah-ah," she cooed when the dude defensively straightened. "Pay him no mind. How's that new cream I gave you last month?" She skimmed a fingernail over his smooth jaw, tone dialed to come-hither. "Did it do the trick?"

"Jock itch." Riley tsked. "Sucks to be you. Fi, wrap it up. Now."

"I pulled a muscle," Batboy claimed, heatedly, then smiled like a douche at her. "I was back to new in days. It was a miracle. Told the whole team about it. Do you have more?"

"Of course." She winked, sauntered to a shelf, hips seductively swaying, and came back with a jar. Bagging the item, she passed it over while the guy pulled a wallet from his pocket, extracting a credit card. "Remember, apply once a day. No more."

Riley checked the logo on Batboy's jersey while she rang him up, recognizing the Triple-A team from Boston. Ugh. A mainlander, and a meathead to boot. Riley had been privy to all sorts of the knuckle-dragging primates she attracted. None of them were anywhere near her league, this guy included. Then again, a resurrected version of the Trojan warrior Acamas wouldn't be worthy.

"What are you doing tonight?" Batboy re-pocketed his wallet and leaned a hip against the counter.

"Why do you ask?" Her grin leveled kingdoms. "Want to round my bases?"

Oh, for the love of...

"Uh..." The dude blushed. Literally blushed. "I was thinking dinner, but I like your idea better."

"I'm afraid I can't." She pouted and stuck her thumb in Riley's direction. "I have unbreakable plans with him."

Damn straight. "Plans that involve panting, sweating, and lots of moaning."

She rolled her lips over her teeth, but epically failed to hide her amusement. "He's my personal trainer. But you should totally look me up on your next visit." Blink, blink. "Have a good night. Blessed be."

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