Chapter One
Constance Merryweather sighed when she saw the dead rat on her doorstep. Taking a sip of coffee, she leaned against the doorjamb, then offered her cat a nasty look over the rim of her cup.
“I understand you don’t like living here, but I didn’t invite you. In fact, I believe I remember telling you to leave me the hell alone.”
Sebastian, a Persian who had been with her since she was eighteen, blinked once, then offered her a look of feline triumph before raising a paw to lick.
Getting mad was just what he wanted, so she bit back her need to lash out at him.
She would not lose this battle. Sipping at her coffee again, she swallowed it and the irritation.
“If you’re not happy with Texas, go back to New York.”
With that, she pushed away from the doorjamb, turned, and kicked the door shut with the heel of her foot.
Muttering under her breath, she stalked up the stairs to get ready for work.
She refused to touch another dead rat. Since arriving in Branders, she had yet to use her powers.
Each Monday, Sebastian would bring a rat.
And she had cleaned up every one of the smelly creatures—with her hands.
Well, not really her hands per se, but she did it manually.
For a witch who had spent most of her life not doing anything disgusting by hand, this wasn’t the best way to start it off.
But she had done it because of her promise to herself.
But not this time. The damn thing could lie there and rot for all she cared.
By the time she reached her bathroom, she’d worked most of the irritation away.
After a quick perusal of her closet—which had close to nothing in it because she was still having issues with the washing machine—Constance grabbed a purple dress and headed for the bathroom.
As she was hanging her dress on the hook on the back of the door, a shiver danced across her neck.
Without looking, she knew who had just shown up.
“Caprice, I’m really not in the mood.”
Her twin laughed. “You’re being naughty and using your powers, sister.”
Constance turned to face Caprice. Sitting on her bathroom counter, her younger twin was the epitome of sexy, witchy seductress.
In other words, Constance’s direct opposite.
Almost six feet tall, with a slight but curvy figure, Caprice wore a short black dress.
Her silvery blonde hair cascaded down her back in a riot of curls.
Her makeup, in full glamour, told Constance that her sister had been out celebrating her recent divorce.
If Caprice’s eyes didn’t look so sad, Constance would have been convinced that her sister had been successful.
“It’s Monday, and I’m not in a good mood,” she said, as she twisted her hair behind her head and clipped it. She was already running late. Doing her own makeup and hair took her forever.
“Tsk, tsk. Did Sebastian leave you another dead rat?”
She slanted her sister a narrow look. “What do you want?”
Caprice huffed out a dramatic sigh. The Merryweathers were known for their dramatic behavior—all except Constance. “I haven’t seen you in close to a month. I missed you.”
Constance looked at her sister with one eyebrow raised, which earned her another huff, this one full of indignation.
“You would think I only contact you when I need something from you.”
Constance didn’t reply. She couldn’t because they both knew it was true. Instead, she concentrated on squirting cleanser onto her hand, then began scrubbing her face.
“Constance.”
She glanced at her sister, who then waved her hand. Immediately the cleanser dissolved. Constance knew, without looking, that her sister had just cast a glamour spell.
“I wanted to do it myself.”
“Believe me, darling, this is better. I’ve seen your attempts at makeup. You look like something out of The Rocky Horror Picture Show.”
“I’m getting better at it.”
Caprice patted her shoulder. “Sure. Now you have time to talk to me.”
She opened her mouth to tell Caprice to leave her alone when her doorbell rang. “What the hell is it with Mondays?”
She hurried down the stairs, but the doorbell rang again before she made it. Pushing herself up on her tiptoes, she closed one eye and looked out her peephole. There, standing on her porch, was the totally delectable Sheriff McMillan.
She’d been trying to gain his attention since she’d gotten to town, sure that he would be able to help her in her quest. Unfortunately, their relationship had boiled down to Sebastian terrorizing the mayor’s Chihuahua.
She was not giving up, though. Each time he approached her with the woman’s complaint, Constance used it to get to know him better.
“Who’s the hunk?” Caprice asked. She, of course, had used her powers to look.
A feeling of dread enveloped Constance as she glanced over her shoulder and watched her sister descend the stairs.
Just what she needed. The one guy she was trying to impress getting an eyeful of Caprice in full glamour.
Even the strongest of warlocks could not fight the temptation of her sister. Many had tried and failed.
“Go away.”
It was Caprice’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “I will not. But I will stay out of sight.” With another wave of her hand, she disappeared, but Constance could still feel her.
The doorbell rang again, then she heard McMillan’s baritone voice with just a touch of twang say, “I heard you in there, Ms. Merryweather. There’s no avoiding this discussion.”
Marsh waited for Constance Merryweather to open her door with impatience churning his gut.
Since the woman had arrived in his town, her cat had become a menace to Killer, Mayor Wendell’s insane yappy dog.
Granted, Marsh took pleasure in hearing the stories, mainly because the dog was psychotic, but it brought him up close and personal to Ms. Merryweather, who was a little too much temptation.
He raised his hand to ring the doorbell a fourth time when the door opened with a whoosh. And, just like every time before, his breath tangled in his throat, and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Not since he was fifteen had he had such a visceral reaction to a woman.
“I’m so sorry. I was upstairs getting ready and didn’t hear you the first time.” Her voice was husky. It always rushed against his nerve endings, making him itch.
She pushed the screen door open, inviting him in. He’d planned on staying on the porch, but before he knew what he was doing, she was shutting the door behind him.
“I truly am sorry for Sebastian’s behavior,” she said with a smile. Again, he was struck dumb, staring at her. Then, he let his gaze drop, and he realized that she was standing in front of him in a robe.
“Uh, do you think maybe you should put some clothes on?”
“Huh?” she asked.
“I said, maybe you should get dressed.”
She looked down at what she was wearing. Her cheeks turned pink by the time she lifted her gaze to his.
“I’ll be right back.”
Then she turned and hurried up the stairs, that round ass he had been dreaming of the last few weeks disappearing around the corner. He thought he felt something smack him against the back of his head, but when he turned around, there was nothing there.
He had never made it into her house. He had avoided it on purpose. Constance Merryweather was too much enticement for him…as was snooping around. He assured himself that it was all within his duty as a police officer to look around.
He stepped into the foyer and peeked around the corner into the kitchen. From the moment she bought the old Riley house, there had been talk. Old man Riley had been trying to sell it for years when she had snapped it up. It was a great old house, but he’d been asking way too much for it.
When he heard her soft footsteps on the stairs, he straightened.
“I’m so sorry. I normally don’t entertain in my robe.”
He smiled. “Not that I was complaining…”
Marsh trailed off when realized what he was saying. Her skin pinkened again, and he couldn’t look away. She had the most amazing blue eyes, almost otherworldly, and a mess of dark curls piled up on her head. She looked like she had been thoroughly debauched the night before.
“Sorry.”
“No problem,” she murmured. “Now, I assume you are here because of Killer?”
He nodded. “You know Mayor Wendell will not let it go. You’ve got to do something about that damned cat of yours.”
Then, he felt it. The rub against his legs. He looked down. Dammit, he hated cats, but this one loved him for some reason.
“That’s amazing,” Constance said.
“Cats like to rub.”
She shook her head. A little tendril of her hair escaped. He wanted to wrap it around his finger to feel how soft it was.
“Not men. Sebastian hates all men. Except my brother-in-law and now you.”
She looked up at him, and again his mind went blank. What was it about the woman that had him acting this way?
“You don’t carry catnip on you, do you?” she asked, humor lacing her voice. It was a voice he wanted to hear in his room, laughing as he leaned down to kiss her.
He shook his head, mostly to clear it of that image…partly to answer.
She sighed. “I’ll try to keep him away, but I’m sure you can tell that Sebastian has a mind of his own.”
“Yeah.”
Constance gave him a strange look. He didn’t blame her. His voice had deepened along with his arousal.
“I really don’t want to impound your cat, so if you could try to keep him in the house, I would appreciate it.”
“I’ll try my best.”
Then, silence. He didn’t know what else to say. Of course, the only explanation was that functioning with no blood in his brain wasn’t good.
“Well, I better be getting to work.”
He slipped out the door and into fresh air. He pulled in a huge gulp and shook his head. He could not seem to clear it of images where Constance starred. Naked.
His cell rang.
He sighed and pulled it out of his pocket.
“Yes, Doris.”
“We have a report of some vandalism over at the school.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
She didn’t say anything else, but she didn’t hang up.
“Was there something else?”
“I take it you had the talk with Ms. Merryweather again?”
He wanted to tell Doris to quit treating him like a kid, but it would do no good. She had been the dispatcher when his father had been sheriff and still saw him as the kid.
“I did. She said she’ll try to keep Sebastian under control.”
“What would be best is if Sebastian would kill Killer, then we would be free of that damned dog.”
He laughed. “And we would have one angry mayor. Is there anything else?”
“No.”
“Talk to you later.” Then he hung up, drew in a deep breath, and looked back at Constance’s house. He hated to admit it, but something drew him back to this place time and time again. Marsh didn’t know when he’d been so preoccupied by a woman since he first realized he liked breasts.
And, damn, the moment he thought of it, his brain conjured up the image of Constance Merryweather naked. Just like every time before when he thought of her, he had a visceral and painful reaction.
Dammit. He needed to get his head off the woman and what he wanted to do to her and back on the job.
Marsh knew that was easier said than done.