Chapter Four
Banging woke Payton, and she wished Dailey Cobb straight to perdition. He had to know he’d wormed his way into her thoughts and that she’d stayed up well past a sane person’s bedtime reliving the night’s events. Was it too much to ask for a damned break?
She twisted her wrist to check the time. With a few choice swearwords, she removed her smartwatch and dropped it onto the charger. Sure, she could’ve given it a boost, but batteries and magic didn’t always play nice.
The banging resumed, and Payton was fully prepared to eviscerate whoever dared knock again.
With a growl, she stomped into the foyer and yanked open the door.
She blinked down at the festively decorated box, then leaned into the hallway to check both directions.
From around the corner, the elevator dinged, but she’d be damned if she gave chase.
Caffeine first, present second, dealing with Dailey third.
Or preferably never.
Never would be good.
She scooched the box inside with her foot, slammed the door, then headed for the kitchen. Centered on her spotless counter was a large to-go cup with a sticky note attached.
You have until 11 a.m. — D.
Payton crumpled the paper and removed the lid from what she suspected was the perfectly flavored coffee. One sip confirmed that the temperature and taste were spot on, and she sighed her appreciation.
Dailey’s thoughtfulness was suspect. Was he trying to soften her only to lay down the hammer later? Why? What would be the point when she was already expecting the worst? Perhaps it was to ensure she showed up for her punishment.
Frowning, she smoothed the note flat. At some point this morning, he’d left her this gift, likely spelling it to stay hot. Dailey wouldn’t have forgotten her night-owl tendencies. He never forgot any of her preferences. Once learned, he’d locked them in and made sure to deliver.
Payton had missed his special brand of consideration. Most lovers were pleasure-focused and transactional. Not him, though. He had always paid close attention.
Swallowing past the lump in her throat wasn’t easy, but she managed to consume the required amount of caffeine to function.
Awake enough to investigate the delivery, she retrieved the box from the foyer.
When she peeled off the wrapping paper and lifted the lid, she gasped.
Inside were the most stunning boots she’d ever seen.
Deep burgundy velvet, so rich it should be illegal, hugged a shape designed to ruin a woman for all other footwear. Hundreds of tiny crystals caught the light and threw it right back in glittering defiance. The kind of sparkle that said, “I dare you not to look.”
She lifted one boot out, already halfway in love, and turned it in her hands. The lace-up front oozed vintage seduction, with velvety ribbon threaded through polished eyelets. But it was the heel that did her in—sleek, silver, and sharp enough to stab a mofo through the heart.
Of course, Dailey remembered her tastes: dramatic on the gooey side of decadent.
Dailey Cobb didn’t merely give a gift. Apparently, he issued a declaration, and this one screamed, “I still know you, Payton. I still want you.” Although she’d never entered a relationship for financial gain, she certainly never objected to a man spoiling her.
These boots were intended to appeal to her inner glam girl, and they fit perfectly beside the spectacular Christmas presents he’d given her when they were a couple.
“Oh, you thoughtful sonofabitch,” she whispered, warmth filling her cold, hollowed-out heart.
She kissed the bedazzled tip of the boot and nestled it back into the tissue. After a shower and a little strategic makeup, she intended to put those babies on and meet Dailey at the assigned time. Being prompt was the least she could do.
Yet as she stepped under the steamy waterfall, she considered the pitfalls associated with beginning again. Would he tell his mother to butt out this time? Payton found it hard to believe Mary-Alice Cobb would let him run his own life, illustrious Chief of Police of Witchmere or not.
With a sigh, she dried off, closed her eyes, and conjured the perfect outfit: a long-sleeved, body-skimming black knit sweater dress that hit mid-thigh. It hugged her curves and was toasty enough for the chilly December morning.
After checking her reflection, she snapped her fingers to dip the neckline and flash a teasing amount of collarbone. One wave of her hand opened her accessory drawer. Yes, the velvet burgundy choker would match perfectly. She’d add her favorite dagger pendant with the winking blood-red ruby.
Next, she stepped into her new glittery boots. The fit was exceptional, and once again, Payton credited Dailey with keen observation skills. She strode back and forth across the living room, testing the comfort, surprised they felt as good as they did.
“Perfect,” she sighed.
One by one, the crystals lit, pulsing with a breathtaking pink glow.
The tingling in her lower extremities was an “oh shit” moment, and a heat wave swept upward to her core, firing her up in ways all too similar to her wanton nights with Dailey. The next surge tightened her stomach, and sweat broke out at her temples.
Then she knew.
“Hermes! You asshole!” she swore. “Why didn’t I put two and two together the instant I saw these damned boots?”
“Perhaps because they’re a different color and style, suited specifically for you?” replied a deeply amused voice.
She spun toward the sliding porch door and found the Divine Trickster himself.
“Why?” she cried. “Didn’t they cause enough havoc when Elara wore them? The entire town was almost destroyed by a volcano, for fuck’s sake!”
“That’s only because Enguerrand was a stubborn fool. It’s not likely to happen again.” Hermes shrugged one deliciously muscled shoulder as if it didn’t matter one way or the other.
He was such an arrogant, cagey bastard.
“Not likely? But it could?” she asked, sitting down, prepared to rip the cursed boots from her feet.
“Those won’t come off until their mission is completed, love. Don’t waste your time trying.”
Dismay built into a feeling remarkably similar to full-blown panic, and worked its way toward her spasming throat.
“What are they going to make me do?” she croaked in horror.
Hermes frowned. His emerald eyes were dark with concern when he squatted before her.
“Just breathe, Payton. It will all work out. I promise.”
“You can’t promise anything. If I recall correctly, and I always do, these fucking things take on a life of their own, outside of your ability to control them. How the hell are you going to fix it when things go sideways?”
In the distance, the town clock rang the first of eleven times.
“Crap! I have to go. Dailey’s expecting me. If I’m late…” She didn’t care to think what he’d do if she didn’t show at the designated time, especially considering he wasn’t the one gifting her boots.
She deflated.
They weren’t from him. Which meant all the old love she attributed to him meant nothing.
Last night’s events loomed in her mind, and a fresh new fear struck. Did he intend to arrest her? Was it too late to leave Witchmere for good?
“Yes,” Hermes said, making Payton realize she’d spoken aloud. “You have to see the spell to completion.”
“Goddess, I hate everyone,” she muttered.
She wasn’t showing.
Dailey couldn’t say he was surprised. Payton was the queen of disappearing acts. But the profound disappointment he experienced was more than he’d felt in a great while, with most of it directed at himself for his ridiculous assumption that she’d meet him.
Feeling ninety, he shoved back his chair and stood.
The outer office buzzed with commotion a second before his door burst open.
And there she was.
A blonde goddess in a black dress with sparkling boots. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were frantic as they locked on him.
“I fully intended to be on time, but Hermes…”
Dailey didn’t hear the rest. His mind immediately went to what she didn’t say.
Hermes.
The gorgeous fucker who could have anyone he wanted with a crook of his perfectly formed finger. And he’d probably crooked it at her.
He scowled as Payton wrung her hands.
“Lee—er, Dailey?”
Jumping up, he stalked over, tugged her the rest of the way into his office, and slammed the door.
After drawing the blinds, he faced her. Her lush mouth, glossed a rich burgundy to match her choker and boots, hung open.
They were lips that begged to be kissed, and suddenly, it was all he could think about.
“Goddammit,” he muttered.
One second, he was sane, and the next, he wasn’t. Daily closed the distance, cradling her face and locking onto the mesmerizing object of his desire.
“Do you want this as much as I do?” he asked hoarsely.
“This?” Her breathiness hit him low and hard.
“Yes, Wildfire. This.” He ran a thumb over her lower lip.
Her eyes flew wide, and she rapidly blinked before focusing on his mouth.
She’d barely finished her nod before he was kissing her as if he wouldn’t survive another day without tasting her unique spiciness.
As if a world of lonely tomorrows wouldn’t exist if he could just evoke an answering response from her.
And saints above, he did.
She knocked one of his hands away to make room for her arm around his neck.
Dailey welcomed the freedom so he could grip behind her knee and hike one long, tantalizing leg around his hip.
Her deep-throated moan nearly did him in. He’d just lifted an arm, prepared to sweep the surface of his desk, when someone knocked.
“Uh, Chief?”
Fucking, Junior! Dailey was seriously beginning to despise that kid.
Pulling away, he sighed and exchanged a What the fuck just possessed us? look with Payton.
“Chief? Everything okay in there?” Junior called with another rap on the door.
She did an awkward dance, tapping the hand still gripping her thigh as a signal to release her, before she rubbed her thumb across his mouth.
“Lip gloss,” she said in answer to his questioning frown.
“Thanks.” Raising his voice, Dailey called out, “If it isn’t urgent, Junior, I need five minutes.” The delay might not kill his erection, but it afforded him time to hide behind his desk.
“Yessir.”
After the footsteps faded, he blew out a breath. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m not sure what came over me.”
“I have a good idea,” she muttered as she sank into the visitor chair.
Oddly, he felt the urge to grin. “You do? Care to explain it to me?”
“I’m not sure you’d believe me if I did.”
Her deflated expression bothered him and sent him to his knees in front of her.
With a light brush of his fingers over her flushed cheek, he asked, “What is it, Pay?”
“Hermes.”
“There’s that fucking name again,” He muttered, dropping his arm to stand. “Are you involved with him? Is that why you were late? Why you’re upset that I kissed you?”
“What? No! God, Lee. You know me better than that!”
“I thought I did.” He crossed to the wall of windows and stared down at the bustling street below. It belatedly occurred to him that the holiday was almost upon them. Yet another one without someone to share it with. “Turns out I didn’t, though, did I?” he asked softly.
She joined him, and for a long while, neither spoke.
“You know me better than anyone in my entire life ever has,” she said. Glancing up, she added, “Elara and Rowan included.”
Dailey scoffed. “That’s not saying much.”
Hurt flashed across her face.
“Shit, Pay, I didn’t mean it to be unkind.” But maybe he did. Maybe he’d turned into a bitter bastard who made digs at another’s expense. And if so, he didn’t like who he’d become. “I’m sorry.”
She didn’t acknowledge his apology. “Earlier, I was only late because I thought you sent me these boots.”
He followed her finger point and noticed her sparkly new footwear.
“Hot, but I didn’t send them. I only left coffee and a note,” he replied wryly.
“I know.” With a roll of her eyes, she looked out over Witchmere’s main thoroughfare. Did she see the decorations and, like him, remember happier times?
“They were a gift from the Divine Trickster,” she stated woodenly, bringing him back to the conversation. “Apparently, I’m next on his list to terrorize with his fucking magical boots.”
His stomach dropped. Sure, he hadn’t truly attributed his curse to Elara’s choice in shoes, but if those things were evil incarnate, as Tripp liked to say, Dailey would prefer they were at the bottom of an ocean and not on Payton’s feet.
“Take them off right now!” he ordered, cringing at how autocratic he sounded. His authoritative arrogance would have her doing the exact opposite.
Yet she surprised him. Although her mouth tightened, she didn’t read him the riot act as one might expect. Instead saying, “I tried. I’m stuck with them until I’ve done whatever it is they want.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah, my thoughts exactly.”