Witch For Hire (Witch For Hire 1)

I move onto my knees. “But what I really want to know is if you still have your matching set.”

He chuckles. “And if I do?”

“I’ll sleep here tonight if you wear them.”

He smiles. “You drive a hard bargain, Ms. Esçhete.”

I used to live to see him smile the way he is now. He never understood

what casual meant until me. He taught me so much. I only wanted to return the favor. He walks away, and I wiggle out of the dress, changing into the pajamas. I’m under the covers when he returns in a matching top paired with his silk pants. I can’t hold back the laughter that bubbles up.

“Only you could ever get me to participate in such frivolous and outlandish behavior.”

“You say the nicest things,” I say as I catch my breath. “Come on, Master vamp. You’re adorable right now.”

His jaw ticks, but I can see the humor lurking in his eyes.

“This is what it takes to get you into bed? Well then, fair lady, if it pleases you. I prostrate myself before thee.” He kneels beside the bed. “Have I found favor with you?” His accent thickens, and I struggle against the urge to melt like chocolate in the sun. “Perhaps I’ve earned a token of your affection?”

“I’m fresh out of braids of hair and handkerchiefs.”

“Would you give it to me if you had it?”

Our tones are light, but the conversation is meaningful.

“Maybe.” Reaching out, I run my hand down the planes of his face.

“I want to show you something.” His voice is soft and he refused to look at me.

I prop myself up against the bed.

“Show me?”

The boyish grin he gifts me before flashing away, eats away at the resistance I cling to in order to keep him at a distance.

He returns with a thick piece of paper. “It’s been sometime since I worked with charcoal, so you’ll have to forgive the poor quality.” He hands me the paper and I’m stunned to find a replica of myself. The woman in the picture is a fierce warrior with expressive eyes, full lips plumped to perfection and set with determined expression.

“I don’t look like this.” I whisper trailing around the tiny curls he’s shaded in.

“You do to me.” The bed dips once more with his weight. “When I was a boy the emphasis was on the arts. Creating music and art, and writing was a main focus during the Golden Age of Spain. We flourished. At that time, we were the first to have control over five continents at that point. Impressive for a country that had just been founded less than twenty-five years ago.”

I listen afraid to break the spell. He doesn’t talk about his origins often.

“And what did you want to be then?” I ask as I place the drawing in my lap.

“Hmmm. I fancied myself an artist. I wrote god-awful poetry, drew, and painted. I did commission work and worked whatever odd jobs I could. I was lucky in my family situation. As the youngest, not much was expected as far as familial duties. It was known I had to make my own fortune.”

“And did you?”

“Not in the monetary since, but the experiences I acquired were worth more than gold. Most of them.” His face becomes closed off and he straightens his tie. I’ve yet to get his origin story. I’m starting to think it’s a bloody tail younger me wasn’t ready for. I yawn, breaking the silence.

“You’re tired.”

I nod. “I need to sleep.”He kisses my hand. “I’m going to check in with Marcellus. He’s been hunting our suspects relentlessly.”

“Tomorrow I’ll make more inquiries,” I promise.

“Be careful.” He kisses my forehead, and I burrow back into the sheets that smell like him, feeling safe as the dream becomes a distant memory. We have our problems, but I know he’d never intentionally hurt me. It’s a truth that floated to the surface when my guard was down and went to work on the steel walls I’d entombed myself in.