Chapter Five-Evie #2
“First off, we’re not ‘girls.’ We’re fully grown Witches. Second, these are our woods. You’re trespassing.”
The green-eyed blond one finally spoke. “Uh, excuse us. We’re sorry, ladies. We didn’t mean to intrude.”
At least he had manners.
“We were just trying to get to Maccon City. Took a wrong turn somewhere, then our truck got a flat. Engine just went poof,” he said, scratching his neck.
“Actually, it was the weirdest thing. We hit a hydrant sitting about six-inches out from the sidewalk. Anyway, we saw the fire. Thought maybe someone needed help,” he stammered.
Damn it, Dick, you and those stupid fire hydrants.
I mentally cursed-out my ex.
“Um, did you say you three were Witches?” he added after a beat.
“Oh my Gaia,” Bella squeaked. “Shit on a shingle. They’re Shifters, Evie!”
“Course we are,” Mr. Sexy drawled, grinning with all his teeth.
Too many teeth. Very Wolfy of him.
“Didn’t you have a spare tire?” I asked, more annoyed than I had any right to be.
“The spare was flat too,” he said, still ogling me like I was his birthday wish.
“We were more worried about the fire spreadin’.”
“Hey, are you guys firefighters?” Donatella asked hopefully.
“Have been,” the older, gigantic one offered, his deep voice surprisingly gentle. “Among other things. We’ve all worn a lot of hats. Cops. EMTs. Handymen. I was even a baker for a while.”
“Jacks of all trades,” Maribella whispered, eyes wide with curiosity and a little too much excitement.
Mr. Smolder stepped forward, sweeping into an infuriatingly charming bow that should not have worked but absolutely did.
“Name’s Jaxson. Jaxson Reid, at your service.”
“You said that already,” I grumbled, but he just winked.
Smug bastard.
He gestured to the big, soft-spoken one. “That’s Ryan McLeod.”
And to the blond. “And this is Conrad Boman.”
Great. Now all three panty-melters had names.
And voices.
Mr. Silver Eyes had dimples, too.
I was a sucker for dimples.
His peeked out when he grinned.
And if I wasn’t careful, I might find myself attracted to him.
I could not afford to let that happen.
Too late. Shit.
“So, you ladies really are Witches, then?” Ryan McLeod asked, his gravelly voice doing things to my spine that should’ve required a permit.
He was the big one.
Broad shoulders, deep brown eyes, streaks of silver in his hair and beard that somehow made him look more dangerous and more comforting all at once.
Like a sexy lumberjack-turned-guardian-angel who’d chop your firewood and tuck you in at night. With cookies.
“You got a problem with that?” Donatella snapped, sparks flicking off her fingertips like she was a human sparkler with a grudge.
Poor guy visibly flinched.
“Nope, I just, uh…” He coughed. “Never met any with your, um, assets.”
That did it. I snorted. Actually snorted.
And then laughed, because Donny’s glare was somewhere between I will smite you and I might kiss you after I fry your eyebrows off.
It was adorable, in a someone’s-gonna-get-scorched kind of way.
But Bella, ever the voice of sugar-laced reason, elbowed me in the ribs hard enough to knock the humor right out of me.
Right. Not the time to flirt.
Or snort-laugh.
Or imagine what a man like Ryan could do with those huge hands. Focus, Evie.
I snapped my fingers in the air.
“Easy,” I said quietly, glancing between my besties.
Donny still looked ready to unleash some serious lightning bitch energy, but Ryan lifted both palms like a man familiar with high-voltage women.
“No, ma’am,” he said quickly. “No problem at all.”
His voice was so deep it practically echoed in my pelvis.
And judging by the way his eyes were glued to Donny, he definitely didn’t mind her attitude.
Or her curves.
Or her brazen magic.
Hell, he looked like he wanted to write her a sonnet about it.
Donny pointed a glowing finger at him anyway, but I slapped her hand down before she turned Mr. Shifter into a toasted marshmallow.
Ryan chuckled once—short, surprised—and I blinked.
His eyes. Were they glowing?
No—wait—yes.
A flash of gold shimmered in those deep browns, like embers catching in the dark. Oof.
“Donny! Control yourself,” Maribella scolded, clearly amused but trying to play the responsible Witch.
I cleared my throat and stepped forward, putting a little more mayoral steel in my voice.
“If you boys would kindly give us a little privacy,” I said coolly, “we’ll see about getting you back on the road to Maccon City.”
It was the right thing to say.
Logical. Professional.
So why did it sting a little?
Odd.
Ryan and Conrad turned instantly, like gentlemen who knew when to bow out—but of course, Jaxson Reid didn’t budge.
That grin of his stretched wider, and I swear to Gaia, the man slow-blinked at me.
Like a smug, sexy predator basking in the moonlight.
Then he let his eyes—those ridiculous, molten silver eyes—roam.
From my face to my toes and back up again, nice and slow, like he was mentally tattooing my body for reference.
It was obscene. It was infuriating.
It was really, really effective.
My nipples hardened like traitors.
My stomach did somersaults.
Butterflies? No. These were fighter jets doing loop-the-loops behind my belly button. From one look.
One. Fucking. Look.
Shit. This was not good.
It wasn’t just that he was hot—though, yes, he was hotter than Satan’s sauna.
It was the way he looked at me.
Like he already knew what I looked like in every position, in every shade of moonlight, and had plans.
It had been a long time since someone looked at me like that.
Scratch that.
I don’t think anyone had ever looked at me like that.
And yes, I had a rechargeable boyfriend named Ernest and a healthy appreciation for privacy.
But this was different.
Dangerous.
Like my defenses were being dismantled by dimples and Southern charm.
Nope. Nope nope nope.
Never again.
I’d made that mistake with Dick Daniels—may his beard oil curdle in Hell.
Just because a man looked good and knew how to charm didn’t mean he was worth a damn.
Dick had played the long game—flattery, flowers, flirty spells—and then bailed the second I got too real.
I’d sworn off dating, relationships, and anything with a penis and a pulse.
I had my friends, my magic, and Ernest, thank you very much.
But apparently, my hoo-ha had not gotten the memo.
Because she was currently composing a welcome speech for Jaxson Reid and trying to manifest a hotel room with a jacuzzi tub and zero witnesses.
Focus, Evie.
Note to self: Use his actual name.
Do not call him Hottie McDoMeRightNow in your head.
Because, honestly? That was not helping.
Not even a little.
As if he knew I was silently reprimanding myself, the bastard chuckled.
And good Gaia, that sound.
Deep and masculine and delicious. It vibrated. Through me. Into me.
Suddenly, I was picturing things.
Things involving six-and-a-half feet of bare Shifter, a bowl of chocolate pudding, and a very, very small spoon.
I swallowed. Hard.
Yup, I was in trouble.
Big, broad-shouldered, pudding-coated trouble.
And I had no one to blame but myself.