expression on her face. “Is it the apron? Is green not my color?”
“What?”
“You look like you just took a bite out of a lemon.”
“I…um…no.” She offered him a sickly smile. “Actually the green looks good on you. It matches your eyes.”
“Well I’m certainly relieved about that. I hate being poorly dressed in the kitchen.”
“At least you’re dressed this time.”
He remembered how he’d dashed into her kitchen wearing only Emma’s drawers. Thank God he had on pants this time around. That damned Magic was getting to him again.
He could smell it in the air. Magic. Like burning cedar chips that have been dipped in peppermint and sunshine—and sex. Despite his best intentions, his head lifted and his nostrils flared. It required a conscious effort not to take a step toward Claire as desire snaked through him.
He dropped a spoon back into the dishwater with a plop, and visually searched the area for a sign of the witches’ brew. There, on the floor beside her worktable, a cork. He scooped it off the ground and cautiously lifted it toward his nose. One little sniff. The scent melted through him. Cedar and sunshine and long, slow, deliriously sweet sex. Oh, yeah .
He pegged the cork across the room toward a basket of trash. The aroma didn’t fade. Glancing around the room, he finally spotted pieces of glass and a stain puddling out from beneath the worktable. When he hunkered down to retrieve the glass, he heard Claire exclaim, “Oh, no. It was a big bottle, too.”
To Tye’s discomfort, she joined him, kneeling on the floor just outside the mess. Their hands brushed as they both reached for the same shard of broken glass. Tye’s fingertips tingled, and he sucked in a breath through his teeth. Claire Donovan and her damned Magic. “I’ll get it,” he said gruffly. “Go on, Claire. In fact, why don’t you head home. I’ll see your kitchen put to rights again. You needn’t stay.”
When she shook her head a tendril of gold escaped its pins and brushed against her lips. Tye bit back a groan as she said, “No, I can’t leave. I have work to do. I lost half a day because of Lars, and if I’m going to open the shop on time, I need to work.”
When she stretched her hand toward another shard, the bodice of her gown pulling tight across her bosom, Tye’s instincts went to war. Self-preservation finally won out over lust, and he backed away. Slowly, he pulled off the apron and set it aside. “This has been a stressful day. What you really need, Miss Donovan, is a little time to relax. You’re strung tight as a two-dollar fiddle.”
Of course, Tye was really talking about himself.
She blew a small, disgusted puff of air. “I can’t relax. I have too much to do. Too many problems to solve.”
Her fingers closed around the ragged edges of the glass. When she flinched, Tye realized she’d cut herself. He mouthed a curse and reached for her hand. “Lemme see.”
Blood pearled in a thin line along her palm and smeared the surface of the shard. “Ouch,” he said, appropriating the glass. He tossed it into the trash, then took hold of Claire’s wrist and helped her to her feet. He reached for his handkerchief, frowned when he found it soiled with chocolate pudding, then discarded it in favor of one of Claire’s embroidered tea towels.
His touch was gentle as he dipped a corner in water and dabbed at the cut, frowning as the bright red stain spread across the pristine cloth. “You should have listened to me, Claire. It’s not deep, but you’ll feel it every time you move your hands the next couple of days.”
Out of habit developed from weeks of tending to children, he lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to her palm just beside the cut. Then, because he’d lost his mind under the influence of Magic, he placed another pair of kisses at her wrist. Slow, experimenting kisses. Learning her texture and her taste. He licked her skin, and sweetness exploded across his
“What?”
“You look like you just took a bite out of a lemon.”
“I…um…no.” She offered him a sickly smile. “Actually the green looks good on you. It matches your eyes.”
“Well I’m certainly relieved about that. I hate being poorly dressed in the kitchen.”
“At least you’re dressed this time.”
He remembered how he’d dashed into her kitchen wearing only Emma’s drawers. Thank God he had on pants this time around. That damned Magic was getting to him again.
He could smell it in the air. Magic. Like burning cedar chips that have been dipped in peppermint and sunshine—and sex. Despite his best intentions, his head lifted and his nostrils flared. It required a conscious effort not to take a step toward Claire as desire snaked through him.
He dropped a spoon back into the dishwater with a plop, and visually searched the area for a sign of the witches’ brew. There, on the floor beside her worktable, a cork. He scooped it off the ground and cautiously lifted it toward his nose. One little sniff. The scent melted through him. Cedar and sunshine and long, slow, deliriously sweet sex. Oh, yeah .
He pegged the cork across the room toward a basket of trash. The aroma didn’t fade. Glancing around the room, he finally spotted pieces of glass and a stain puddling out from beneath the worktable. When he hunkered down to retrieve the glass, he heard Claire exclaim, “Oh, no. It was a big bottle, too.”
To Tye’s discomfort, she joined him, kneeling on the floor just outside the mess. Their hands brushed as they both reached for the same shard of broken glass. Tye’s fingertips tingled, and he sucked in a breath through his teeth. Claire Donovan and her damned Magic. “I’ll get it,” he said gruffly. “Go on, Claire. In fact, why don’t you head home. I’ll see your kitchen put to rights again. You needn’t stay.”
When she shook her head a tendril of gold escaped its pins and brushed against her lips. Tye bit back a groan as she said, “No, I can’t leave. I have work to do. I lost half a day because of Lars, and if I’m going to open the shop on time, I need to work.”
When she stretched her hand toward another shard, the bodice of her gown pulling tight across her bosom, Tye’s instincts went to war. Self-preservation finally won out over lust, and he backed away. Slowly, he pulled off the apron and set it aside. “This has been a stressful day. What you really need, Miss Donovan, is a little time to relax. You’re strung tight as a two-dollar fiddle.”
Of course, Tye was really talking about himself.
She blew a small, disgusted puff of air. “I can’t relax. I have too much to do. Too many problems to solve.”
Her fingers closed around the ragged edges of the glass. When she flinched, Tye realized she’d cut herself. He mouthed a curse and reached for her hand. “Lemme see.”
Blood pearled in a thin line along her palm and smeared the surface of the shard. “Ouch,” he said, appropriating the glass. He tossed it into the trash, then took hold of Claire’s wrist and helped her to her feet. He reached for his handkerchief, frowned when he found it soiled with chocolate pudding, then discarded it in favor of one of Claire’s embroidered tea towels.
His touch was gentle as he dipped a corner in water and dabbed at the cut, frowning as the bright red stain spread across the pristine cloth. “You should have listened to me, Claire. It’s not deep, but you’ll feel it every time you move your hands the next couple of days.”
Out of habit developed from weeks of tending to children, he lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to her palm just beside the cut. Then, because he’d lost his mind under the influence of Magic, he placed another pair of kisses at her wrist. Slow, experimenting kisses. Learning her texture and her taste. He licked her skin, and sweetness exploded across his
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