Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fourteen
S irena glanced around the kitchen. Her eyes drifted over the wooden cupboards, which appeared so old and well loved that she knew that they must be original to the house. The countertop was lined with culinary knickknacks, like a rotund witch-shaped cookie jar and vintage tins labeled with cooking ingredients. There were brand-new chrome appliances, like a dishwasher and fridge, mixed with older but still working items.
Let me tap into whatever witchy power remains in this place.
Sirena picked up a tasting spoon and studied the honey sauce. It was starting to thicken, and she wanted to make sure that she got the taste right. The journal said that if the sauce tasted like fresh nectar and dripped slowly from the spoon, then it was ready to be served.
“Please be amazing,” she whispered. Please let him love it.
She dipped a tasting spoon, brought it up to her lips, and sampled it. The sweetness hit the back of her mouth and tingled over her tongue. Oh, that was good, but it needed a little something more. She put in an extra dash of apple cider vinegar, stirred it with the wooden spoon, then tasted it again with a fresh utensil. Flawless.
Sirena grunted with gratification and bounced her shoulders, dropping the spoon in the sink. She did the damn thing with this meal. The chicken croquettes were almost done in the air fryer, and the glaze would go perfectly on top of it. The pumpkin cake was cooling on the counter. She had a little nibble from the side, and hid the dent with a layer of royal icing. She turned down the sauce and checked on the broccoli, which was looking nice and bright.
A blast of heat rolled over her body, weakening her knees. Sirena waved at her face as sweat gathered in different places. It was hot in here. She turned off the burners.
Gus was going to devour this sauce. Her heart fluttered in her chest at the idea of Gus eating her meal. This isn’t a date. You’re cooking for your friend.
He leaned into the kitchen. “Are we ready to eat? I can smell the food from the office.”
She waved him away playfully. “I’ll tell you when it’s ready.”
He gave her an impish grin that stoked the heat inside her. “Yes, chef. You’re in charge.”
Whoa. Sirena felt a sizzle of searing heat from her heart down to her core.
How could she take charge? In her mind, she’d carefully strip off her dress right here, drop it to the floor, and stand before him, bare naked. She’d let him drink her in. The sizzle turned into a powerful flame the longer she thought about it. Would he be a gentleman and turn away? Or would he stay and be with her with that mischief-making smile? She’d seen flashes of that trickster rogue, but she hadn’t seen him in full force. Would he fall to his knees? Would she beg him to kiss her where she ached to be licked? Sirena groaned.
Gus stepped into the kitchen. He stepped closer. “You look a little flushed.”
He pressed his hand to her forehead.
Even though his hands were cool, she felt like she was burning up. “You’re warm.”
You’re hot , her juvenile brain whined. Sirena took a step back from Gus. If he got any closer, she’d be compelled to kiss him—or worse, beg him to bend her over the table.
Sirena undid her apron and threw it over a chair. “I’m fine. I just got a little overheated.” She fanned herself. Air. Had the room suddenly run out of air?
Gus pointed to the stove. “Can I have a little taste?”
Sirena paused and closed her eyes. Yes , her body hissed. Think of unsexy things. Tomatoes. Fruit. Forbidden. Apples. Bite. Gus. Her hands balled into tight fists. Another rush of arousal went through her, and she was filled with the sudden urge to grind up against Gus until she—
Sirena pivoted from Gus and willed herself to calm down.
“Set up the dining room table for me. Thank you,” she said in a quick rush.
She didn’t wait for a response as she rushed to the bathroom down the hallway and locked the door. Her brain went over the last hour. What did I eat? There was something in the sauce—or maybe I did something wrong to the dish. What did I use?
She kept adding things to the sauce—a touch of ginger, a sprinkle of rosehips and pepper. Finished with a dash of apple cider vinegar—
Oh no. The pieces locked into place.
Sirena had made a passion brew. It was used to stimulate the blood. She was so busy worrying about whether the sauce was going to be good, she made it impossible to resist. Her hands gripped the sink as she felt that fire fill her up from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. How could she have messed up this dinner so badly? She’d have to toss out the sauce and start over again. Or maybe she could just serve him the chicken bare.
You’d like to give him something else bare: you naked on a plate.
Sirena shoved that horny thought down, but it kept bopping up like a balloon. Everything pulsed and ached to be touched, and she ached to touch another willing body. Right. Freaking. Now. Okay. New plan. Show Gus how to assemble the plate, then take your witchy butt home. She’d have to swing by the store and buy a value pack of batteries to power her personal massager, but that was still better than the alternative.
What was the alternative? Her imagination answered with vivid examples.
Dropping to her knees, yanking Gus’s pants down to his ankles, and taking him into her hand. Taking him into her mouth. Stroking him until he begged for release with her. Oh. She faced her reflection in the mounted oval mirror over the sink, pointing a finger at her nose.
“Whatever you do, don’t kiss him,” she growled. “Don’t even touch him.”
Her reflection appeared to smirk and say Good luck with that . Sirena turned on the tap and splashed water on her cheeks and neck. She dried off, opened the door, and returned to the kitchen. It was empty. He was gone. Maybe Gus got a phone call. She looked at the stove. The pot was gone, too. Panic skittered over the back of her neck. Did he throw it out? There was a loud noise, like a distressed moan, in the dining room, so she went there. Gus stood in front of the table, licking the honey sauce from the wooden spoon she had discarded.
He clutched the pot by its handle.
“August!” she cried.
He dropped the pot to the floor without a second thought. It clattered. She jumped.
Sirena looked at Gus, her sauce dripping from his lips and onto his beard. Drops of honey landed on his button-down shirt and on his hand. The thick honey sauce made him look sticky and edible. Craving, as deep and strong as the pull of the ocean, drove her forward against her better judgment. She stood a foot away from him, fighting against the emotion that threatened to pull her under.
A mischievous, eager gleam entered his eyes.
“I couldn’t help it. I had to have a taste.” His voice was rough and desperate.
She glanced down at the pot at his feet. It had been scraped clean.
Did he really eat it all? Maybe it spilled out , her brain hoped stupidly.
Sirena met his eager stare. “How… much did you have?”
“Not enough. Is there more?” Gus dropped the spoon on the table and drew his thumb into his mouth to clean it with his tongue. She let out a strangled gasp imagining that tongue lapping her up. He sounded hungry. Ravenous. No, he was yearning to feed his soul.
The craving deepened as her body ordered her to act.
Feed him anything you can find. Gingerbread. Apples. Hearts.
Her brain countered with a last-ditch attempt at reason. Wait, tell him the truth. He’s got to know so he can make a choice. Even if he doesn’t choose you, tell him so he knows. She forced her mouth to work, pushing out the words, fighting against the magic that threatened to take control of her.
“Listen. There’s something wrong with the sauce.”
Sirena explained to Gus, as clearly as she could, what happened and how she might have messed up their dinner. Her breath quickened; her cheeks flushed in shame at the realization that she accidentally put him under a passion spell. Some kitchen witch she was. She couldn’t properly make a simple glaze without hurting someone she really cared for. His eyes suddenly darkened with—She glanced away before she could see his disappointment. Once Sirena finished talking, she moved to leave the dining room, but he held out his hand to block her path.
“Stay,” he whispered. “Please.”
An unwelcome blush crept over her body. She wasn’t strong enough to resist him, and if she stayed, then everything would change between them.
“If I stay, then—” She halted. “I won’t be able to stop.”
“I know,” he said. His gaze turned from hopeful to wonderfully greedy.
She gave a quick nod, placed her hands around his neck, and pulled him down to her. It was settled. Sirena wasn’t going to just kiss him. She was going to lick him dry. Sirena brushed her lips against his, an urgent kiss. It was fiery and brief. She ran her tongue over his lips, taking the sauce into her mouth. He tasted like hot honey and peppercorn, of passionate magic and barely restrained lust. Blood rushed in her ears, sending her body into a tizzy. He ran his hand up the length of her body; his fingers skimmed her arms, her stomach, and settled on her chest. All fires started with a spark, and this moment was the spark that would start the fire between them.