Hail to the Queen (Witch For Hire 2)

“And Cristobal is on board with this?” She purses her lips.

“Well, he doesn’t know yet.”

“Ha. I knew it.” She points at me.

“Even I require a few days of downtime every now and then. I’ll tell him tomorrow.”

“Good luck with that one.”

I sigh. “This is the hardest thing I’ve ever attempted, and I’m constantly unsure if I’m making the right decisions. I haven’t officially taken over anything, and I already feel like I’m over my head.”

“I’d be more concerned if you didn’t feel that way. There’s a reason the phrase, Heavy lies the head that wears the crown was coined.”

For the millionth time, I

wonder if I’ll be ready to accept the titles being bestowed.

Chapter Five

I gather my hair into a messy bun at the nape of my neck and prepare myself for a different kind of battle. I’ve learned the best way to deliver bad news to Cristobal is by softening the blow and throwing in a pleasant distraction. He sees it coming from a mile away, but his response is always muted from what it might be otherwise.

The emerald silk nightgown grazes the floor. The thigh high slit keeps it sexy, yet tasteful. The room is lit with candles, and the bubble bath in the oversized claw-footed bathtub is still steamy. My man is secure enough in his masculinity to appreciate the feminine things in life. I never knew about romance until he taught me and later converted me. There’s beauty in pampering your mate.

I lean against the bedpost when I hear him approach. The door swings open and he gives me a rakish grin. His dark brown eyes turn amber, glowing in the dim lighting.

“Step inside and see what I have planned.” He closes the doors behind him and meets me in the center of the room.

“I don’t even care what bombshell you plan to drop later, I’m enjoying this,” Cristobal says.

I giggle and crook a finger. “I want you to remember you said that later.” I slip my hands beneath his soft navy blue jacket and hug him tight, inhaling the rugged and refined smell of woods, old leather, and sandalwood. He intoxicates me. Burying my nose in his neck, I allow myself time to simply be as he runs his large hand down my back.

“It’s been too long since we’ve had time alone like this.” He kisses my temple, and we sway to the non-existent music.

I pull back before he can weave his spell. “Tonight is about you.”

He lifts my chin and presses his lips to mine, which part like a flower opening to the sun as I sigh. His tongue slips inside. I moan as he grazes the roof of my mouth. Heat spreads through my body. He tilts his head, molding us together as he deepens the kiss. Desire swirls up, threatening to wipe my mind of everything but him. I tremble as I fight the urge to get lost in the moment and yield control.

I nip his bottom lip and push his jacket off his shoulders.

“You’re too tempting for your own good,” I say shakily.

“Says the woman in lingerie.”

I trail my finger down his collar. “I’m just giving you something pretty to look at.”

“Oh, is that what you’re doing?” he teases.

I wink and tug his shirt from his slacks. There’s something sexy as hell about seeing this well-groomed man ruffled. I begin to unbutton his shirt one button at a time, never breaking eye contact. Looking away is a habit I’ve struggled to break myself of. Equals don’t avoid direct gazes. I smooth my hands up his chiseled abs to his sculpted pecs. The muscles jump beneath my palms. I roll erect nipples between my thumbs and forefingers, occasionally tugging lightly. He groans.

“Are you testing my breaking point?” he queries. His accent is thicker.

“That would insinuate I wanted you to hold back.” I toss the shirt to the floor and undo his belt. The trust he shows me as he allows me to undress him is indescribable. I hold out my hand and lead him to the bathroom.

“Will you join me?” He nods toward the bathtub.

“Not today.” He steps into the tub, and I’m grateful I can honor him in this way. Growing up the youngest, he was left the dirty bathwater everyone else had used. Freshwater and being bathed by servants was for the extremely wealthy. At one point, bathing in his country was illegal altogether because they linked it to other pagan religions. His past has given him an unusual appreciation for the act of bathing.

I dip the black, Egyptian cotton washcloth in the sandalwood-scented water and lather it with similar handmade soap. I trace circles on his back, and he leans forward, allowing me more access. His eyelids drift shut, and his body relaxes.