Chapter 5
Chapter Five
After Horatio leaves, I lock my front door and head straight for the shower, McGruff moping along after me.
I switch the dial to the coldest setting because it’s still sweltering in this flat and Mr Hottie’s presence has only increased the temperature.
I’m a sweaty mess. One my hot neighbour would not want to sleep with under normal circumstances.
Which is the other reason I’m taking a cold shower.
The man has no tattoos, no nose rings, and certainly no leather jackets.
And yet …
It was the growl that did it. Plus the steely gaze. And the calm manner in which he took all that earth-shattering news.
Shit, did I ingest the magic potion too?
I shake my head under the cold blast of water.
No, not possible, that particular love potion only works on the male members of the species.
I just haven’t been laid in a very long time, and my horny brain is addling my senses.
McGruff looks at me through the shower panel with a big dose of disapproval.
“You can’t judge,” I tell him. “My illicit potion business keeps you in the comfort to which you have become accustomed.” Including the ridiculously expensive dog food that is the only thing the mutt will eat.
When I’ve cleaned all the sweat from my body and frozen away any thoughts of hot neighbours lingering across the hallway, I wrap myself in my cotton dressing gown and call Damien.
He answers the phone with a dramatic sigh. “Well, this is disappointing.”
“What is?” I ask.
“I thought you’d be rolling in bed with Mr Hottie all afternoon and well into the evening. Unless … ew … are you calling me while you’re having sex? We’ve talked about this!”
“I am not having sex!” I screech. “And I have never called you during sex. That was an online aerobics class.”
“Sure it was, darling.” He chuckles. “So has there been any sex?”
“None at all.”
“Actually, that’s probably a good thing.”
“It is?”
“Uh huh, I’ve been reading up on how to reverse this potion – you do want to reverse it, right?”
“Of course.”
“The man is very rich and exceedingly good looking. You could just–”
“I want to reverse it.” While I don’t judge my customers, I’m holding out for the real deal. I want love that hasn’t been concocted in a cauldron. You know, the head-over-heels kind where they’re really into you.
“In that case, there can’t be any shenanigans of any kind,” Damien says.
“Why not?” I say. And is that the slightest bit of disappointment I sense in my belly?
“The more physically intimate you become, the harder it is to reverse the potion.”
“Is that really true or are you once again attempting to sabotage my love life?”
“Molly, darling, this is one man I might actually be able to get behind.”
I sigh. “But it’s not real. He’s not really in love with me. Although …”
“Although?” Damien asks, his interest piqued.
“The restraining from physical intimacy may be harder than you’d think. The man basically propositioned me.”
“And you declined?” he says, clearly surprised.
“Not real, remember?”
“Well, don’t worry, darling. This is where I can help. I’ll happily put a stop to any hanky panky.”
“Because you love to torture me.”
“I can’t help it. It’s in my nature.”
I roll my eyes. Damien is always claiming that tormenting human souls is an innate part of being a demon – one that’s very hard to resist. But I think he simply enjoys it.
“Anyway, did you find out anything else that was useful? I told him it’s going to take me at least ten days to brew the reversing potion.”
“More like three weeks!”
“What?” I yelp, jumping up onto my feet and pacing across the room. Is he messing with me again? “Why would you say that?”
“Because, as much as I love to torment you, I do also have your best interests at heart and I already went onto the web to start ordering all the necessary ingredients. They’re out of fairy toenails and they won’t be back in stock for at least another two weeks.”
“Warlock’s testicles!! Can’t we get any sooner than that?”
“Because having an extremely rich and handsome man mooning all over you is going to be such a hardship.”
“Can you or not?” I snap.
“I’ll try some of my contacts, but I’m not making any promises.”
“Thank you.”
“In the meantime, I could arrange a chastity belt.”
“Fuck off,” I tell him, “I’m not some nymphomaniac and he is not that good looking!”
Which I truly believe until I’m lying in bed later that night, a storm thundering overhead, rain pounding the window, and the image of Mr Hottie bare-chested and wrapped in just that teeny tiny towel refusing to leave my mind, no matter how hard I try.
In particular, my uncooperative mind seems fixated on what lay beneath that towel. Was it as big as the rest of him? As beautiful? I have a feeling it is a tool that must be pretty effective, at least given the noises that float from his flat whenever he has female company.
I shouldn’t be thinking about that. I should be professional. I should be focussed on rectifying this mistake.
But my mind just won’t behave. I truly do think I’ve been impacted by that love potion as well.
Or maybe it’s just the way he growled.
Blimey, that growl. And the way he asked, without any beating around the bush, whether I wanted to sleep with him or not. That must be the American in him. No British man would be that outrageously confident and straightforward. And why do I find that so darn attractive?
It’s because you can’t touch, I decide.
Forbidden fruit is always more tempting.
Which is just fine. I’ve resisted tempting fruit in the form of unsuitable man-boys and knobhead ex-boyfriends over the last year. I can do it again now.
With a huff of frustration, I open my bedside drawer and pull out my trusty vibrator. I have a feeling she and I are going to be seeing a lot of each other over the next twenty-one days.
Then again, maybe not. Maybe Mr Hottie didn’t inhale so much of that potion. Maybe I won’t hear from him again until those ten days are up and he’s demanding the antidote.