Best Hex Ever

Chapter 10

Getting Dina and her mother into a car was a trying experience for all involved. Nour had lost her sisters in a car accident when she was younger, and so had spent the past forty-five minutes adding protection spell after protection spell to every inch of the car. Dina, a little more pragmatic than her mother, had been busy undoing her mother’s henna magic all morning.

She had woken the house up with screams at 6 a.m . when she’d discovered that her mother’s spell had changed her hair to a mermaid-blue color overnight. After the initial shock, the whole bright blue hair look had kind of grown on her, but she wasn’t convinced it would be the best look for the wedding, so she had begun the painstaking process of charming it back to its original aubergine brown with flecks of purple.

Finally, they were in the car, and heading off to Honeywell House, where they’d be spending the weekend. Immy and Eric were having a relatively small celebration, with around thirty guests.

Honeywell House was a National Trust property deep in the gentrified Hertfordshire countryside. Eric’s parents had actually got married there, and although Immy was vehemently opposed to following tradition, once she’d seen the place she had fallen in love. The phrases “definitely haunted” and “cabin in the woods” had been thrown about.

As they drove down twisting country roads, Dina found herself growing apprehensive. The way things had been left with Scott last night—the spark of longing she had felt pulse through her as she’d kissed his cheek…She had butterflies in her belly. And what kind of grown woman experienced butterflies, for crying out loud.

They passed through an archway of low-hanging tree branches, the sunlight piercing through and scattering on the road ahead. The leaves were already turning a blood orange shade, and next month they wouldn’t be there at all.

Nour poked her head around from the front passenger seat.

“Are you excited to see that handsome man this weekend?”

“How do you know Scott’s going to be there? Were you snooping, Mama?”

“No—and I knew you thought he was handsome!”

“Mama!”

“Oh, pssh. I just have a feeling in my bones about this weekend, that’s all,” Nour said, her eyes glinting with mischief. In Dina’s experience, her mother’s “feelings” always had a tendency to come true. Romance is on the horizon.

“Who is this handsome man we’re speaking of?” Robert Whitlock asked, his eyes remaining on the road.

Dina sighed. “Scott Mason. He’s actually Eric’s best man.”

“Is he now?” her dad said, sounding amused.

“I didn’t know that until last night. So, yeah.”

“Well, if your mother likes him, I like him,” he said, giving Dina a smile in the rearview mirror.

“Thanks, Baba. But it’s not like that.”

“Oh, please! Robert, take my word for it, they’re practically in love,” Nour said, which earned her a swat on the arm from Dina. She had just met Scott, for goddess’s sake—she wasn’t in love with him!

“Mama, are you going to tell me what you foresaw for this weekend?”

Nour smirked. “Where would be the fun in that?”

The cobbled country road wound abruptly to the right, and Honeywell House came into view, surrounded by tree-lined hills and, behind it, an imposing forest. Although it was a clear October day, clouds hung low around the mansion, creating long shadows that moved about the hills.

“Well, it’s certainly…striking,” her dad said.

“I wouldn’t get married there,” Nour muttered under her breath.

“You two eloped, of course you wouldn’t get married somewhere like this,” Dina replied.

Her mother looked over at her dad and she could practically see the hearts in her eyes.

“And I would do it again in a heartbeat,” Nour said.

Robert reached out and caught his wife’s hand, kissing it delicately, and whispered, “Cariad.”

Dina wanted a love like her parents had: unflappable, unscathed by time.

They drove down a long gravel driveway lined by stoic, serious evergreens. Honeywell House looked formidable at first glance, like a determined old tyrant lording itself over the landscape, but as they approached, Dina could understand why Immy had fallen in love with this place.

Ivy clung to the sandstone battlements, and stern gothic windows flanked the medieval arch of the front door, complete with a wrought-iron handle. Small faces were carved into the stone cornices, and the wicked face of a green man grinned down at them from above the main door. It certainly had a haunted feel about it, and Dina wondered if she might spot a ghost looking down at them from an attic window.

Behind the house the land fell away into dense forest, tall pines blocking out any autumn light. Wonderfully spooky.

Immy and Eric must have heard them pulling up, because the front door creaked open ominously to reveal them standing there, like the lord and lady of the manor.

Immy came running up to Dina.

“Don’t you just love it?” she said, gazing up at the stained-glass windows.

“I do. The wedding photos are going to be epic!” Dina squealed, squeezing Immy’s hand.

“Maybe if we’re lucky we’ll spot a ghost in the background when we get them developed. Or Rosemary will see an actual ghost!” Immy said, and Dina knew her friend was being one hundred percent serious.

“Fingers crossed.”

Eric waved Dina hello as he helped her parents carry their bags through the front door. Immy looped her arm through Dina’s and pulled her across the threshold into a side room where the walls were covered in taxidermised deer heads. Their glassy stares followed them across the room as Immy and Dina sat down in a cozy corner.

“Where’s Rosemary?” Dina asked.

“Off on a walk around the house. She wanted to see if all the ghost stories about this place are real.”

“Of course she did.”

“Anyway, I hear you met Scott last night,” Immy said, winking ominously.

“Ah, you heard about my little fall, did you?”

“I did—glad you’re all right by the way, but I want to know all about it. Eric told me you met each other before, on the train? Why didn’t you mention anything?”

“Number one, I didn’t know he was Eric’s best man at the time, and number two, this is your wedding weekend. I didn’t mention it because nothing of interest happened.”

“Nothing of interest, huh? That’s not what I heard. You do remember that I’m the bride, and you have to follow my orders. I demand you give me all the juicy gossip.”

Dina couldn’t argue with that.

“There’s not much to tell really. He came into my café Wednesday morning, the hamsa fell on the floor—”

“Oh dear.”

“Right. And then we met each other again on the train, and yeah, that time it wasn’t so bad, and then he helped me home when I fell over.” Dina shrugged, attempting to keep her cool. And failing—the image of Scott’s happy trail when he’d reached for her bag in the train had scalded itself into her mind.

“Hmm. Remember what you always tell me about the power of three in magic? Seems pretty interesting that you met Scott three times in two days, don’t you think? Immy smiled, a cunning gleam in her eye—Dina wasn’t sure she liked where this was headed.

“Do you think there could be something there?” Immy asked.

“I don’t know,” Dina said, telling the truth. “But I can’t date, you know that.”

Immy and Rosemary knew about the hex, though sometimes Dina suspected that Immy was tired of hearing her talk about it. She seemed to believe that Dina should just come clean to her mum about it. Immy thought that Dina’s parents would welcome their daughter’s sexuality, but Dina knew it wasn’t that simple. The hex was the one thing she and Immy couldn’t see eye to eye on. Case in point, she clearly didn’t believe in the dangers enough to stop playing matchmaker between Dina and Scott.

“You don’t have to date him—just, you know, have some fun this weekend! You need it. And you know what they say about the best man and the maid of honor…” Immy waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Dina didn’t have time to whack the future bride over the head, because at that moment Immy’s dad, Tony, popped his head round the door to hustle Dina and Immy to the Reading Parlor, where all the wedding guests would be meeting.

“It was Colonel Mustard in the library with the candlestick,” Dina whispered morbidly to Immy as they walked through the gothic black-and-white-tiled hallway, their steps echoing.

The Reading Parlor was far too large to be called cozy, and yet somehow it managed to be. A fire crackled in the blackened stone hearth and thick forest-green drapes fringed the floor-to-ceiling windows, which let in the gray afternoon light.

Every space on the wall was filled with bookshelves. Dina could have easily spent hours in there, just picking one book up after another, alternating between reading and dozing in one of the grand leather armchairs. She would have been particularly suited to the life of a Regency gentlewoman.

Of course, all thoughts of celibate bookishness fizzled away the moment she locked eyes with Scott, who was seated in one of said armchairs, lounging in a way that should have been criminal. And—goddess help her—he was wearing a shirt with the sleeves rolled up, truly the sexiest thing a man coulddo.

Dina inhaled sharply, desire fluttering through her. Scott smiled, as if he was so happy to see her, and she felt the blush rising in her cheeks.

Maybe it was the setting, or maybe it was her Jane Austen obsession, but this felt distinctly like that moment in the 2005 Pride and Prejudice movie when Darcy and Lizzy danced together for the first time, and everyone else in the room disappeared. Now, it was just her and Scott, the rest of the room falling away.

Dina blinked and looked away. She saw her mum chatting with Immy’s father, while her dad was admiring a row of books that contained old naval charts. Two women were sitting in a corner of the room, Juniper on the sofa between them, snoozing away. They must be Scott’s mums. This was going to be a complicated weekend.

In a flustered haze, she made her way over to Eric’s parents, a rather stern pair, and greeted them politely. Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorn never gave anything away in their expressions other than mild distaste. To Dina, they seemed like physical manifestations of the English stiff upper lip.

“Mum, did you know Dina owns a coffee shop near your office? You could drop by some time,” Eric said as he approached, clapping Dina on the back. She thanked him with her eyes; no one knew better than Eric what kind of people his parents were.

“Is that so?” Eric’s mother, Patricia, replied, picking lint off her tweed blazer. She looked like she ought to be off hunting foxes for sport, Dina thought.

It was, frankly, a miracle that Eric had turned out as down-to-earth as he had. He had never batted an eyelid at Immy’s less-than-Queen’s-English accent, or her writing profession, although his parents certainly had.

Dina remembered Immy calling her crying after she’d been introduced to Eric’s parents, and how they had berated her writing career, telling her that unless she changed her tune and started writing Booker Prize–winning novels, she might as well give up her writing dreams. When Immy had told them that she wrote horror novels they’d reacted even worse, spouting some nonsense about how women weren’t good horror novelists because of all their hormones.

Dina couldn’t remember the last Booker Prize–winner she’d read, but she devoured every single one of Immy’s novels. And not just because Immy was her friend, but because they were genuinely some of the scariest novels she’d ever read. So scary that Immy had created a red-flag ranking system for Dina so that she knew how likely each book was to keep her from falling asleep that night.

The reminder of how Eric’s parents had treated her friend made it difficult for Dina to resist dropping a curse on them. Just a little one. But she resisted all the same, because she was a good witch.

“I hear you’ve already met my best man.” Eric nudged Dina, steering her away from his parents.

“News travels fast.” They walked toward the hearth where Scott was bending over, adding extra kindling to the fire. Sweet saints in heaven, how had she not noticed his tattoos until this moment? The rolled-up sleeves displayed the dark lines and geometrical shapes that traced their way from his wrist to his elbow. He looks like a lumberjack holding all that firewood, she thought, as her brain short-circuited entirely. She didn’t even realize Eric had left the two of them alone, she was so preoccupied.

“You’re looking better,” Scott said, chucking a final piece of wood onto the fire. Dina wasn’t sure if it was the fire or the heat between her legs, but for a second she was struck dumb.

“Much better, thanks,” she finally managed to choke out.

They stared at each other, neither one speaking. There was almost too much to say. The kiss she’d planted on his cheek hovered between them, unspoken. It had just been a kiss, she told herself. A kiss between friends.

“Is your speech prepared for the rehearsal dinner then?” Dina said, forcing herself to break eye contact to stare at one of the deer heads on the wall. The way that Scott was looking at her with his honey-brown eyes made it difficult to concentrate on anything. Small talk would help. Surely.

“Oh, it’s ready,” Scott said, grinning cheekily. “Soon everyone will know about Eric’s diary entry from when he was fourteen, where he detailed the traits of his perfect girl.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was. Don’t worry, Eric gave me approval to read it. You’ll be surprised: He basically describes Immy.”

Dina looked over at the pair. Eric was planting a kiss on Immy’s nose, then whispering something that made her tip her head back and cackle with laughter.

“Actually, that doesn’t surprise me at all.” She smiled.

She suspected she could talk with Scott for hours and never get bored, but she didn’t get the chance, as he was pulled way into a chat with the other groomsmen. Dina felt a shiver of desire as she saw how Scott towered over the other men. Apparently she had a thing for tall men now.

—

A short while later, Immy and Eric were showing people where their rooms would be, with the help of a very eager steward called Martin.

“Shouldn’t I be doing this, as the maid of honor? You should be relaxing before the big day,” Dina said to Immy as they walked out the main entrance of Honeywell House and round to the right.

“It’s really more of a small-to-medium day when you think about it. Besides, I wanted your room for the weekend to be a surprise.” Immy wiggled her fingers like a movie villain.

“Why do I feel like I’m walking into a trap?” Dina muttered, as Immy pulled her toward the edge of the woods.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Immy replied.

As soon as they entered the forest, Dina felt something stirring in her magic. Normally it lay dormant within her until she needed it for a spell. But now it was thrumming in her blood, reacting to this place. The trees were tall and thick, little sunlight made it to the forest floor, and the narrow pebbled path they walked along twisted out of sight ahead of them.

“There’s something here,” she whispered to Immy.

“Like magic?”

“Yeah. Like, I don’t know how to put it—like this is an old and powerful place. Like the land itself is breathing.”

“Ooh, I’m going to write that phrase down for my next book,” Immy said, pulling her phone out of her pocket.

As Immy slowed down to make her note, Dina walked on, feeling the power of this ancient wood flooding through her. She felt as if she were walking into the mouth of a great, slumbering goddess. But it didn’t scare her; it wasn’t meant to. It was just nature, older than history, older than bone.

The path curled around to the left, revealing a small cottage in the dappled light, dwarfed by the surrounding oaks. The lights were on inside, illuminating the ivy and wisteria vines that had twined themselves around the outer walls of the cottage. The windows were sashed in dark green wood, complete with window boxes filled with daisies. Daisies that Dina was sure shouldn’t have been able to grow in such little light, but this wood seemed to play by its own rules.

“It’s the Honeywell hunting lodge,” Immy said, catching up with Dina.

“Looks like a fairy-tale cottage,” Dina replied. “I love it.”

Immy beamed. “I knew you would. Now, don’t get mad at me, but that’s not the end of the surprise.”

Dina cautiously followed Immy to the house, where she unlocked the quaint wooden door with an almost medieval-looking key of wrought iron. I really have fallen into a fairy tale, Dina thought.

The inside of cottage was exactly how Dina had pictured it: a small kitchen with cream wooden cabinets, a red tiled floor, pots of fresh herbs by the window. Mint, rosemary, and sage—all good for luck and protection. Copper pots and pans hung from hooks on the wall over a bright red Aga, gently warming the cottage against the chill of the woods.

“Adorable,” Dina said.

“Just you wait. Come and look over here.” Immy pointed out the cream sofa that faced a hearth that was currently unlit.

Picture frames hung above the fireplace showing a mouse and its family in their underground house—delightful little watercolor paintings.

There were three doors leading off from the heart of the house, which Dina assumed must be the bedroom and bathroom and perhaps a closet? This felt like the sort of cottage perfectly sized for one person. And ideal for one witch.

“How come you aren’t staying here?” Dina asked. “It feels like the perfect little honeymoon spot.”

“Dina, please.” Immy rolled her eyes. “This is far too cutesy for me. Our bridal suite has a stag’s head above the bed and this big copper bathtub that I’ve already had sex in twice. There’s no way I’m swapping that.”

“Well, I’m not about to complain. This place is heaven.”

“I knew you’d like it. And here’s your room.”

Immy opened the door to a beautifully cozy little room with pale pink walls and a tall wooden double bed covered in all manner of cross-stitched cushions. Dina threw herself onto the bed, squealing as she fell into the heap of pillows.

She heard a sound coming from outside, so she went to look out the window.

Her mouth went dry.

“Immy, why is Scott chopping wood behind my little house for the weekend?”

“About that…”

“Immy…”

“Don’t murder me, I’m getting married.”

“What have you done?”

“Well…technically this isn’t going to be only your cottage for the wedding. Scott will be staying here too.”

“On second thought, murder feels like the right response to this flagrant matchmaking. ”

“It’s not…We’re not…okay, well, maybe a little bit. The truth is—and you know I love you so please don’t get mad—Ithought that maybe Scott might be a good fling for you. He’s exactly your type, and I thought you might want something to take your mind off everything.”

“And what does Scott think of all this?” Dina realized she was trembling. Not from anger; perhaps more the intense apprehension of living in such close quarters with Scott. They would have to share a bathroom, sweet heavens.

“I think we’re about to find out,” Immy said, nodding toward the door.

A moment later, Scott walked in, his hair a mess, carrying a bundle of freshly chopped firewood.

“You,” Scott said, his mouth turning up at the corners. “What are you doing here?” He looked over at Dina’s pile of bags.

Dina glared at Immy, who was unabashedly waggling her eyebrows at them both. That woman had no shame.

“I suppose we’re both staying here then,” Scott said, dropping the logs down on a curved brass log holder by the hearth.

“It would appear so,” Dina replied, doing her best to act cool despite feeling quite the opposite. What if he heard her snoring? These walls didn’t exactly look thick.

“Well, if we’re going to be roomies for the weekend, do you want to help me light the fire?” Scott offered. Dina turned toward Immy, but her friend was already out the door.

“See you both shortly for the rehearsal dinner!” Then she waved, pulling the door shut behind her.

Silence hung between them like a declaration. The way Scott just stood there, looking at her. Like he was waiting for her to say something, to make the first move. And she wanted to. But if she did, and it didn’t work out, they would ruin the wedding weekend. She was the maid of honor, he was the best man; they were going to have to be in close proximity a lot.

“We should set some ground rules, while we’re here,” she said.

“Okay. What do you have in mind?”

“No bathroom hogging, unless one of us wants to have a bath.”

“I don’t remember the last time I had a bath anyway,” Scott said.

“What?” Dina was outraged. “You don’t have baths? How—how?” She couldn’t comprehendit.

“I don’t know,” Scott replied sheepishly. “I just never know what to do when I’m in them.”

“I could show y—I mean, I could tell you what you need. Bubbles. Books. And candles.” Heat pulsed around Dina’s body. Had Scott heard her slipup?

“I’ll take your word for it, Dina.” Oh no, how was she meant to focus when he said her name in that soft, deep voice of his. “What’s rule number two?”

“Hmm. No snoring, the walls are thin.”

“I don’t snore, but how can you be so sure that you aren’t a snorer?” Scott grinned.

“I most definitely am not a snorer. If you hear me snoring you can come into my room and throw a pillow at my head, that’s how sure I am.”

“Right, so rule number two: Scott can go into Dina’s room at night to throw pillows at her when she inevitably snores.”

“You’re twisting my words.”

“You said it, not me.”

What an insufferable man. She couldn’t get enough of him.

“What do you need to light the fire?” she asked.

“Matches, if you can find some,” Scott replied, his voice husky. He was standing closer to her than she’d realized, his warm breath on her face and neck sending shivers to all the right places.

Dina broke away first, stalking to the kitchen, hunting for matches, for anything that would stop her running across the room and flinging herself into Scott’s tattooed, muscled arms.

There were no matches in the drawers, but she did find a fire striker and a piece of flint at the back of the pantry. She could just light the fire with her own magic, of course, but she wasn’t about to show Scott her magic.

She walked back to the fireplace, taking a moment to admire the way his back muscles rippled under his clothes as he laid out the kindling.

She crouched down beside him, inhaling his woodsy scent, the smell of the forest on his clothes and skin. It made her head spin. It made her want to do dangerous things.

“I’ve actually never lit a fire like this before,” she admitted, holding up the flint and the fire striker. It wasn’t a lie; the hearth at home was always lit by the house itself.

Scott met her eyes, a flash of hunger.

“Let me show you.” His hands enveloped hers. “All you need is a little bit of pressure. Right here.”

Holding her hands inside his own, Scott struck the flint, holding them close to the kindling. A spark flew out, a small orange glow appearing in the hearth.

“Now you try,” he said, releasing her hands. Dina could feel his breath on her exposed shoulder, the heat of his body surrounding hers.

She struck the flint, once, twice, until finally she managed to send a flick of fire toward the hearth, landing on dry wood.

“Good g—job.” Scott said, his voice gravelly in her ear as he praised her. All she had to do was turn her face, meet his lips with hers…. No, fuck. What happened to being no more than friends?

Dina stood abruptly, taking a step back from Scott and the heat of the fire.

“Do you need the bathroom? I was going to have a shower. I smell like car,” Dina said, speaking way too fast.

“The bathroom is all yours,” he replied, smirking slightly.

Dina all but ran to her room, leaning against the door until she heard Scott close his own bedroom door behind him. She could hear him moving around in his room, even with the bathroom between them—the walls really were thin. Christ, that’d been close.

Dina unzipped her suitcase and swore. She was going to shout at the house when she got home. It had a tendency to meddle in things it did not understand— because it was a house— and this was evidently one of those times.

When Dina had been packing her outfits for the weekend back at her London flat, she had definitely only packed her comfy pajamas. She remembered putting her penguin pajama trousers and fluffy socks into the weekend bag, and yet they were nowhere to be seen. Instead, there was a skimpy pair of cream silk pajamas that she had left at her parents’ house years ago. Not something she would have packed—not in a million years.

The rest of the bag was filled with her usual travel items: empty jars for collecting herbs, a bottle of anti-hangover honey, and at least two romance novels, with one final unexpected addition. A book of Rumi’s love poetry. Real subtle, House, real fucking subtle.

Dina made a mental note to fiddle with every single picture frame so they were just a little off-center. The house would hate it, and it was no less than it deserved for being such a meddlesome matchmaker.

Dina grabbed her washbag and stripped off, wrapping herself in a towel and checking the coast was clear before locking herself in the bathroom.

There was a deep porcelain tub, and a bright copper shower head. Someone had hung a hand-tied bouquet of eucalyptus and fresh mint in the shower, and the fresh scent reinvigorated Dina as she inhaled.

She pulled her homemade shower gel out of her washbag. It was a mixture of argan oil, rosewater, clary sage, and royal jelly that left her skin feeling soft and supple.

Dina let the water flow over the back of her neck and down her back, revelling in the warmth, feeling it loosening her muscles. She was acutely aware that Scott was only one room away. Her mind strayed to the memory of his muscled forearms, covered with tattoos. She wanted to trace over them with her fingers. His mischievous grin when he’d joked about coming into her room at night, the way he had smelled like wood and moss and sweat. Her hand found its way between her legs. Maybe she just needed to get this out of her system.

Dina rested her head back against the cool tile, wondering what it might be like if Scott came into the bathroom now. Would he pull back the curtain, see her naked?

Would he peel off his clothes, revealing the hard, packed muscle underneath? She knew instinctively that he wouldn’t be clean-shaven. His chest would be covered in curls of dark brown hair that she wanted to knot her fingersin.

He’d take off his glasses, placing them ever so gently beside the sink. He’d climb into the shower, the water cascading down his skin. Dina’s fingers drew circles around her clit, finding a rhythm that made her body flush. She bit back a moan as the pleasure intensified.

What would Scott do, once he was in the shower with her? She knew what she would do. She’d wrap her legs around him. He’d open her up and she’d be ready for him. So ready. His cock would be so hard he’d be desperate to be inside her. He’d push his tip inside, then plunge deep.

Dina’s hand moved faster, and she pushed her fingers inside her. Her mind was full of him. In her fantasy, Scott was inside her while her fingers were clawing his back. As he thrust insideher, he planted kisses along her neck, sucked at her bottom lip.

The orgasm washed over her, sweet and delicious. She couldn’t help herself, and a whimper escaped her lips as she came. She sighed deeply.

Dina finished her shower and spent some time combing through her hair while it was still damp, coiling argan oil and hair mousse through her curls.

She would do her makeup in her room, once she’d cooled down and could think straight. She felt a sudden need to look stunning tonight. She wanted to feel Scott’s eyes on her from across the room, stripping her naked with his stare.

Dina slipped out of the bathroom and nearly walked directly into Scott. Well, fuck. He was shirtless. She definitely hadn’t been wrong about his body. His wasn’t the chest of a man who spent endless hours in the gym or kept to a strict diet. Scott’s muscles were heavy, densely packed. His shoulders were broad and rounded with thick cords of muscle. He looked like some kind of Scottish war hero or Greek god.

Dina was definitely staring and she didn’t give a fuck. She had been right about the hair too. A mass of dark brown—almost black—hair peppered his chest and trailed down his stomach to the V-shape of his hips. He was wearing navy suit trousers and dress shoes, already half dressed for the rehearsal dinner. She wanted, if she was honest with herself, to get on her knees and take him in her mouth. Dina had never felt like that before, and certainly never with a man.

She’d always found it easy to love a woman’s body, with its curves and dimples and soft places made for kissing. With men it was always trickier; she rarely liked their personalities enough to even see them without their clothes on. But Scott was different, more vulnerable and attentive, plus Dina just had a feeling that he would know his way around her body, that he could make her come again and again. Clearly, the orgasm in the shower had done nothing to alleviate the heat she felt between them.

“Sorry, I thought you were done. I left my deodorant in there, but I can come back.” He said, his eyes darkening as he took in Dina, skin still damp, wrapped in a towel. She had just come thinking about him in the shower and was sure it was written all over her face.

“No, no. I’m done, bathroom’s all yours.” She smiled shyly and dripped her way to her room. She was sure she could feel Scott’s eyes following her there. Dina closed herself in her bedroom and fell back on the bed, not caring that she was going to make the sheets damp.

Had that just happened?

Part of her, a big fucking part, wanted to open the door and jump on Scott right now. But she’d made a promise to herself. No romance. No dating. Not while the hex was still in her life. She’d just have to be on her best behavior around Scott. After all, how hard could it be not to sleep with someone?