Chapter 83
GOLDIE
Later, sitting beside Jasper’s bed as he sleeps, looking far better than he has for the last few days, my mind drifts back to the moment everything changed.
To Maggie.
To the spell.
Maggie was behaving oddly after Jasper returned her bag.
I tiptoed down the hall to her room, where her door was ajar.
She worked frantically at her little table, surrounded by herbs, candles, and bottles of tinctures.
Her hands moved so quickly that I could barely keep track of what she was making.
At first, I didn’t recognize the spell. Then she stumbled against the table, and the magic book fell to the floor.
I recognized the page immediately: a repellent spell.
The thick smoke pouring from her candles didn’t look normal either.
Maggie muttered under her breath when one of the ingredients spilled across the table, and for the first time in all the years I’d known her, the magic looked unstable, wrong somehow, like chemistry gone bad instead of something natural.
When I arrived at the Hex to meet Jasper, Elara intercepted me before I even reached the bar.
“He’s not coming, love,” she said quietly.
The concern on her face frightened me, and a cold knot formed in my stomach. “Do you mean Jasper?”
Elara leaned closer. “You should go to him. He needs your help.”
I was puzzled by what she could possibly mean. “Why? What’s happened?”
“You need to go to his house.” She handed me a piece of paper with his address on Fisherman’s Row and directions on where to find the spare key.
I’d given up on figuring out how Elara and Rowan “knew” things a long time ago. I just knew I had to get to Jasper.
The row of fishermen’s cottages was easy enough to find; all painted in faded whites and pale blues with decorative life rings fixed to the walls outside. Jasper’s place looked modest and weather-worn compared to the others, but somehow welcoming too.
When he didn’t answer the door, I crouched beside the blue trash can, exactly where Elara said the key would be. My heart hammered as I entered the tiny abode, silently praying I wouldn’t find a girlfriend sitting in his living room, wondering who I was.
The front door opened into a small living room with worn rugs and mismatched furniture, softened by use and time.
Beyond it, the tiny galley kitchen was unexpectedly modern, with steel cabinets and a stainless-steel island crowded with fruit in a large wooden bowl.
Everything about the place felt practical and solitary.
I found Jasper in the bedroom upstairs.
The sight of him terrified me.
He was as pale as porcelain, drenched in sweat, and coughing so violently that it shook his entire body. He was muttering incoherently, clearly delirious with fever. When I spoke his name, he didn’t even seem to know I was there.
So, I simply took over.
I cooled cloths beneath the kitchen tap and laid them across his forehead.
I tried to get water into him. I sat beside him through the terrible chest-racking coughing fits.
And eventually, almost without thinking, I reached into my bag for the elecampane tincture I’d pilfered from Maggie’s stores several days before without knowing why. Now I did.
I stood in Jasper’s kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil while rain tapped softly against the small window overlooking his neglected garden. As I prepared the remedy, I caught sight of movement reflected in the steel worktop behind me.
The woman in the green coat again.
She didn’t frighten me. Somehow, despite how strange it was, tonight her presence felt familiar. Calming.
But why she kept appearing, I still didn’t understand.
I stayed with Jasper while he drifted in and out of consciousness after drinking the remedy. I made him soup when the fever finally broke and watched over him whenever he slept.
Jasper stirs in his sleep now, pulling me from my thoughts of the last few days. He settles again, and I release a weary sigh.
Needing to stay awake, I decide to explore his cottage, wanting to know the man recovering in the bed with a desire that surprises me—which is…
disturbing after Dusty did such a number on me.
All the time I thought we were in love, he was cheating on me.
Even worse, the woman he was cheating with was my best friend at the time.
I thought I’d never recover from the heartbreak, but this man has quickly made me realize Dusty was a waste of time. He didn’t deserve me.
I’m drawn to Jasper in a way I’ve never been to another man. It’s vaguely unsettling.
Downstairs, I trail a finger along the books on his bookshelf. That’s when I see the box with its dusty lid. I feel faintly guilty as I pluck it from the shelf and open it. But once I see the photos inside, I can’t stop looking.
Dozens of pictures of Jasper as a boy with his family outside Maggie’s house, which had been magnificent back then. The garden was immaculate. The interior was grand and full of life.
The contrast to the crumbling house now is heartbreaking.
And then there’s a photograph that unsettles me most of all.
A young Maggie laughing, arm in arm with an older woman. Her features resemble Jasper’s. His grandmother?
Whoever she is, she and Maggie were not enemies or strangers.
They were friends. Close friends, judging by the joyful look on their faces as they hug each other tightly.
I place it back in the box, unsure of what to make of it all.
I hear movement above and hurry back upstairs. Jasper is just stirring, his sea-green eyes opening slowly.
“Hey,” I say. “How are you feeling now?”
“Much better.” He smiles and holds out his hand in invitation.
I approach the bed and take his hand in mine, smoothing my thumb over the back.
Jasper frowns. “You okay? You look pale.”
“Just tired. I’m relieved you’re feeling better. You looked so awful two days ago.”
. “Don’t remind me. I thought I was dying.”
He tugs me down beside him on the bed so we’re both leaning back onto his pillows, and wraps his arm around my shoulder
“I… found some photos. Downstairs,” I say, wondering if this is the best time to bring them up. “I was looking for a book to read and—”
“Snooping?” Jasper finishes, a smile tugging at his mouth as he pulls back to look at me.
“No! Well, okay, maybe a little,” I admit sheepishly. “Pictures of you as a boy at Maggie’s house. And one of Maggie with an older woman.”
“My grandmother,” Jasper says, confirming my suspicions.
“She and Maggie looked… friendly,” I prompt.
Jasper’s mouth tightens. “They were. I’ve tried to show the photos to Maggie, but she doesn’t want to see them.”
I want to press him, to ask more, but I know he’s still recovering.
“Thank you for looking after me, Goldie,” he murmurs, his beautiful green eyes glimmering with gratitude.
“My pleasure,” I whisper.
“What did you use to make me better? Something from Maggie?”
“Yes. I hoped it would work. I’m so glad it did.”
Vulnerability flashes in his eyes. “You didn’t have to stay.”
“I couldn’t leave you.”
Jasper pulls me in closer, and kisses me, and it’s everything I forgot a kiss could be. Deep and unhurried, his fingers sliding through my hair like he has all the time in the world. When we finally stop for a moment, he strokes my face, watching me with that dark, steady gaze.
I felt the kiss everywhere. In my chest, my fingertips, the backs of my knees.
I didn’t know a kiss could do that—unmoor you completely, leave you blinking like you’ve just stepped out of somewhere dark into bright light.
My hands are still curled into his shirt. I don’t remember putting them there.
He’s watching me with an expression I don’t have a word for yet. Not triumph. Not urgency. Something quieter and more dangerous than either.
“You’re so sexy.”
“Thank you.” The words feel strange in my mouth. I don’t feel sexy—not even close. Dusty spent years making sure of that.
He slowly unfastens my top two shirt buttons, his eyes never leaving mine. I let him get to another button before I catch his wrists.
“Jasper.” My voice is hushed. “You’ve been very sick. You should be resting.”
“I’ve been resting and I’m so much better now. You gave me the magic potion.” He says it simply, like that settles it, and dips his head to press his lips against my jaw.
“I’m serious.” But my grip on his wrists loosens. “I don’t want you to be sick again.”
“Goldie.” He pulls back to look at me properly. There’s no urgency in his face, no impatience. Just that quiet, certain look that does something dangerous to my resolve. “I’m fine. I promise you, I’m fine.” He insists. “But if you want to stop, we stop. You just have to mean it.”
The problem is, I don’t mean it. Not even slightly.
I release his wrists.
Sitting up, I unfasten the rest of my buttons, unhurried until he takes over and pushes the shirt from my shoulders. He gazes at me for a long moment before he speaks.
I resist the urge to cover myself. Old habit.
Dusty used to look away at this point, as if the reality of me was a mild disappointment he preferred not to dwell on.
Jasper isn’t looking away. He’s looking at me the way people look at things they’ve been waiting for, and the steadiness of it does something to me I can’t quite explain—the slow, careful dismantling of something I’d stopped noticing was broken.
“You’re gorgeous, Goldie.”
He works faster to unhook my bra, and the moment the red lacy fabric hits the floor, he has his mouth around my nipple, then the other—nudging, licking, coaxing sensations out of me that ripple all the way down to my core.
I close my eyes. Dusty never once paid attention to my enjoyment.
I think he just assumed I’d be grateful for whatever he chose to give me.
“Are you okay?” Jasper murmurs against my skin. “Do you want to keep going?”
“God, yes.” The words come out breathlessly. “I really do.”
“Stand up.”
I do. And he follows me up off the bed.
He pulls my jeans and panties down together, and I step free of them. He stands back and looks at me—really looks—and the breath leaves him in a sharp rush.
“Fuck. Your body is amazing.”
His fingers slide inside me, and he draws me down to kiss him, slow and deep.
“I want to give you some attention,” I manage.
“Next time.” His voice is low and certain. “This time it’s all about you.” He takes his time stripping off the T-shirt and boxers he put on after his shower, and there is genuinely no better word for his body than magnificent.
The gentleness in his eyes hits me square in the chest. I feel suddenly, unexpectedly emotional—the way he’s holding me, the look on his face. Something that looks almost like possession, the gentle kind, the kind I didn’t know I was starving for.
He fingers my clit, working me slowly, deliberately, like he has nowhere else to be and no interest in rushing.
My breath comes faster. He watches my face the whole time, fully present in the moment, reading every small reaction and adjusting until I’m barely coherent.
Every time I get close, he eases back, unhurried, almost unbearably patient, a quiet smile tugging at his mouth.
“There you are,” he murmurs, like he’s been waiting for exactly this version of me to surface.
I make a sound I’m fairly sure I’ve never made before.
“I need you.” I need you inside me. Now.” I tell him
Reaching into the bedside cabinet, he retrieves a condom and slides it down his thick length.
“Ready, Marigold?” he asks with a devastating smile, his eyes burning into mine.
I nod. “Need you, Jasper.”
He guides me back down onto the bed and he pushes into me slowly, and I’m so turned on it takes everything I have not to come immediately. I want this to last.
He lifts my legs over his shoulders and pauses. “How’s that for you?”
“Deep,” I huff, loving the stretch of him inside me. “So good.”
He moves with a near-ecstatic look on his face, watching me as if I’m the only woman in the world. In and out, circling his hips to hit the perfect spot inside me. Pleasure climbs quickly as he thrusts inside me again and again.
“Christ, please tell me you’re close, sweetheart. I’m going to come. Need you with me.”
I don’t answer. I can’t.
Pleasure explodes from my core, curling my toes and making my whole body shudder. I’m vaguely aware of Jasper following me over the edge with a low groan.
For a long moment, there is nothing—no thought, no doubt, no noise from the harbor outside. Just the two of us, breathing.
Then he gathers me in, pressing his lips to my temple, and the gentleness of it nearly breaks me open all over again.
I lie in his arms in a warm, boneless haze, the bond between us deeper than it has any right to be after such a short time. He falls asleep quickly, one arm loose around me, his breathing slow and even.
I should sleep.
I don’t.
My mind switches on like a light the moment his breathing steadies, and it won’t let me rest. The nagging feeling creeps back in before I can stop it—Maggie. The photo.
The more I turn it over in my mind, the louder the doubt gets. Is Jasper using me to get to Maggie? Is any of this real? Or am I just a convenient steppingstone to whatever he actually wants?
I stare at the ceiling and make myself a quiet, firm promise.
I’m staying until after Halloween. And I’m going to find out exactly what Jasper Cole is hiding.