Sex and the Psychic Witch (9 page)

Chapter Seventeen

HARMONY figured Paxton needed to know about her witchcraft, but he wasn’t ready, yet, to hear that she was psychic. Her efforts to loosen him up had worked to a point, but this
would
set him back a bit. She sighed. “I’m a hereditary Pictish witch. My family’s roots are in the Druidic and Celtic traditions. My ancestors come from Scotland. Pictish means
picture
or
tattoo
. The Picts are a tattooed people.”

“Are you?”

“I just said I was.”

“Are you tattooed?” he clarified.

“Uh, yeah. Are you?”

“Sure. Where’s yours?”

“Oh no you don’t,” she said. “Twenty-four hours after meeting is a bit soon for the ‘you show me yours, and I’ll show you mine’ routine. We’ve already toppled the lust-at-first-sight boundary. I’m not ready for any more boundary-testing at the moment.”

“Tomorrow, then?” He frowned. “It’s hard to focus seriously on someone wearing live fur accessories. Your cats are distracting.”

“Your penis is distracting.”

He sat on the cot near the bed. “
Are
you?”

“Distracted? Yes.”

“Hold that thought. Are you going to show me your tattoo tomorrow?”

“Tattoos, plural, but that’s only a few hours away, and I’m tired.” She snuggled lower into his cushy bed and turned on her side to face him, while her purring accessories readjusted themselves. She closed her eyes. “Night.”

“You saw my ass after half a day,” he grumbled.

“Dumb luck.”

Paxton strolled like a lazy panther back to his cot. “You never answered my question.”

“I did, too.”

“You missed one. Are you a
hocus-pocus
witch?”

“Look, I’m a little tired. Tomorrow I’ll turn you into a toad, okay?”

“Now why would you want to go and do that?”

She sat up. “Oh, I don’t know. In appreciation for this gorgeous
suite
, maybe? Funny when I asked you for details, I never doubted it had
walls
! You have protective walls all around you, but you have none around your bed. What does that say about you?”

“Walls. Right.” Paxton yawned. “Night.”

“Warthog,” she accused, settling in and closing her eyes, though she found it difficult to sleep in a strange bed with a vital, virile man across the room. And his scent so infused the bedding that some of his sensual fantasies were creeping into her mind without any need to read his thoughts. Maybe she should try counting . . . warthogs.

“Argh! Ouch! Attack cat!”

Harmony opened one eye. Tigerstar stood on Paxton’s chest staring down at him, her claws likely pricking his flesh a bit.

“Harmony?” Paxton called softly. “Harmony?” he whispered.

Every time he spoke, she knew Tigerstar dug in her claws. “You should be proud,” Harmony finally said. “She likes you. She hasn’t been that friendly since she fell in love with my Scottish brother-in-law. That cat’s got a real thing for good-looking men. I wish I had a camera. You’d make a great scene for a cartoon strip.”

“Help,” he whispered.

“All right. Walls or not, if you let yourself relax, Star will pull in her claws.”

“Does that go for you, too? Ouch!”

Paxton lowered his head to his pillow and took a visible breath. In out, in out, he breathed. Harmony saw him relaxing. Inevitably, he sighed in relief. “It worked. I guess you know your pet.”

“She’s not mine. She’s my sister Vickie’s, and she won’t hurt you. You’re safe, though I can’t say the same for the castle’s mouse population.”

“She’s not moving,” Paxton said, “and her eyes glitter in the dark, and they’re two different colors. She’s weirding me out over here. Is she going to watch me from up there all night?”

“Nah, she’ll have to nurse my hat and muff soon.”

As if Tigerstar heard, she jumped off Paxton.

He sighed with audible relief. “Witches use cats for spells right? Can Tigerstar turn me into a toad, or worse, a mouse, when she gives me that glitter stare of hers? Or am I mixing up my fairy tales?”

“Witchcraft is not a fairy tale.”

“Right. Sorry.”

One by one, Tigerstar picked up her kittens and jumped off her bed to go and deposit them on Paxton’s chest.

“Uh, does she think she’s gonna nurse them on my . . . yep, she does.”

Harmony tried really, really hard not to laugh. “You must be very comfortable, and Star must love you deeply.”

“I . . . think I’m gonna build the five of you a separate room.”

“Yesterday, I would have considered that a good idea.” Harmony raised her head to rest it on her hand. “But now I think this is cozy. Besides, we’re two against ‘you know who,’ like you said.”

“We can’t say her name?”

“The existing walls have ears,” Harmony replied. “Nuff said.”

Paxton groaned, which was the last thing Harmony remembered, until fifteen minutes later, or so it seemed, when the sound of multiple motorboats woke her. Then she heard the joking construction crew approaching the castle. “What time is it?” she asked.

“Grr, growl, grumble,” Paxton said, already sitting on the edge of his cot scrubbing his hands over his whiskers, looking morning-snuggle soft and sleep-mussed kissable.

“Ah, a morning person,” she said. “You look like hell.”

“Gee thanks.” He did a double take. “You look good enough to—”

“Thanks!” She got up and ran for the bathroom, turning to him in the doorway and raising both arms. “Ta da! I’m first!”

Gingertigger took a flying leap from the floor to his chest and knocked him back on his cot. “You know what I hate more than anything?” he said, staring up at the ceiling. “Wise-ass brats and flying cats in the morning.” Gingertigger licked his nose.

Harmony closed the bathroom door on a chuckle.

“Living with you and your kamikaze cats is like being married without the perks,” he grumbled as he passed the bathroom door. “I have a meeting today,” he yelled, then she heard him walking down the hall. Good, the place must have another bathroom somewhere. Served him right for telling her the dorm was a suite.

After she showered, put on her makeup, and dressed, she saw that he’d made up his cot with military precision. She’d almost forgotten about the obsessive picture-straightening flaw in his personality.

Just to drive him nuts, she unmade his cot, corner by corner, and placed the kittens in the curl of his blankets. She petted Tigerstar as the cat jumped up to join her family. “Show your kids how to be mousers today,” she said, scratching behind Star’s ear. “If you can’t find any mice, there’ll be kitty munchies in the kitchen. Litter’s that way.” She pointed. “Aunt Harmony has to go to work now.” She kissed each kitten on the head, turned to leave, and came face-to-face with Paxton.

“They’re cats, not people,” he said. “You think they understood your instructions?
Aunt
Harmony?”

“Three of them belong to my sisters. Caramello, the caramel and marshmallow swirl, is Destiny’s. Warlock, the pure black, belongs to Storm. And Gingertigger, the orange and black striped, is mine.” Harmony wondered if Paxton had looked this good last night, and if so, why hadn’t she shown him her tattoos? That kiss had been sexy as all hell.

They remembered at the same time, every taste and texture. Harmony stepped away from his heat, but Paxton had no such intention. What had they done, switched places?

He examined her shirt and her nips got hard. “How May I Ignore You?” he read, his laugh lines deepening. The man didn’t even need to smile to turn her on. His breath warmed her as he nuzzled her ear and whispered, “Let’s see if you
can
ignore me.”

“What is this, freaky Tuesday?” she asked as his embrace made her feel safe and cherished. His hand at her back pulled her into a sphere of protection, his bare chest upping the intimacy factor.

His parted lips came slowly for hers, heightening her anticipation.

No swooping in to steal a kiss. This morning, Paxton savored. The touch of his lips barely there, like fluttering butterfly wings, he prodded her upper lip to separate it from her lower, then he teased her lower with his upper, the two of them sharing breaths. This was taking kissing to a new level, raising the bar on her expectations, and her appreciation and desire, to the point that . . . she could really learn to care for this guy.

After kissing him and reading his fantasies last night, she’d had some pretty erotic dreams—of him in that bed alone, hot . . . of the two of them there together, hotter—and yet her dreams were nothing compared to being in his arms at this moment.

Losing all sense of self, Harmony fell into the kiss with ease, knuckling his rugged back with one hand while sliding the other up his centerfold chest. Sifting through his chest hair, she found a nipple and took to curling the hair around it until it pebbled like her own, while her favorite steel rod got harder, too, as it prodded her ready center.

She
got greedy with the kiss. She couldn’t wait a second more, and Paxton groaned and became as ravenous, their tongues mating, the two of them arching to get closer.

Harmony moved her hips to abrade his erection, taking a good deal of satisfaction in their complementing rhythm, but she wanted more, which he surely had to give, because Paxton was hard and thick with plenty of giving power.

He lifted her off her feet, laid her on the bed, and slid over her, taking up where she left off, his purpose clear, to graze her aching center with the treasure in his unsnapped jeans.

Harmony wanted to release, fondle, and torture the standing soldier. She wanted it inside her, until they both came their brains out.

Someone coughed. King stilled.

Harmony looked toward the door.

“Well,” said a scraggly stud muffin voyeur. “I didn’t know the place had gone coed, or I would have come up sooner.”

Harmony expected Paxton to come out of his sexual haze, but he returned to nibbling her mouth. “Go away, Aiden,” he said between nibbles.

“Yeah.” Harmony licked her parted lips. “Bye, Aiden.” She pulled Paxton’s head back down for another kiss, so he had no choice but to cooperate.

The intruder chuckled, and Storm’s kitten followed him out the door.

“I—” King slipped a hand beneath her shirt to place it flat on her midriff. “have—” He kissed the corners of her mouth, “a—”

“Breast in your hand.” Harmony placed his palm over an aching breast, arching so he’d do something amazing with it, which he did, then he lifted her shirt, unhooked her bra . . . and saw her tattoo. He fingered the pale aqua triquetra, symbol of three, in a heart, low on her right breast near her cleavage.

“It’s a Celtic design. Pretty, isn’t it?”

As if captivated by it, Paxton brought his mouth close, closer, and he kissed it. When he was finished adoring her tattoo with his lips, he breathed on her nip, warmed it, and let it cool. “I’m gonna be late for my own meet—” He reared back. “Hey, witch. Am I under a spell?”

Disgust turned Harmony to ice. “The Denialator strikes again!” She shoved him away with so much force, he fell back and hit his head on the footboard.

“Good!” She pulled down her shirt and jumped from the bed. “Meeting,” she said. “Downstairs. Now!”

She went in the bathroom and slammed the door.

Chapter Eighteen

KING went downstairs, determined to get his meeting over with so he could get the castle finished and the witch—the sexy one invading his home, bed, and dreams—out and away from his short-circuiting libido as quickly as possible. Was it only yesterday that he’d climbed the walls, impatient for her arrival? He was a sick son of a bitch.

He found his antiques restorer and architect in the wide balcony area overlooking construction in the great hall.

“Good morning, you lucky devil, you,” Aiden said, petting the black cat nuzzling his neck.

“Be careful,” King said. “Insanity runs in that cat’s family.”

“Look at you.” Aiden shook his head. “The reliable, un-creased, ultraperfect King Paxton—all creased and wearing what? Yesterday’s clothes? And late for your own meeting.” Aiden slapped him on the back. “I’m proud of you, old boy.”

King stepped from his friend’s mocking congratulations. “I don’t need your patronizing jokes right now.”

“Hey, who better to help shove a stopper in your search for perfection than one of your oldest friends who happens to be one of the most imperfect men on God’s green earth?”

King turned his back on Aiden to greet his more serious friend. “Morgan, good to see you. I’m sure Aiden filled you in on the torrid scene he walked in on upstairs, though he should have been filling you in on the restoration project, which is why we’re here. Did you bring the plans for the altered design?”

Morgan tapped the unrolled architectural drawings on the table.

The devil cat jumped from Aiden’s arms to the plans as the seductive witch strolled in and removed it to join its siblings on the floor. “Paxton,” she said, her screwball cats hopping around her gorgeous legs like popcorn. “Introduce me to your friends.”

“This is a business meeting,” King said, eyeing the tight pink bare-midriff tee that proclaimed, I’ve Upped My Standards. Up Yours.

King fisted his hands, less at the insult than at her shorter-than-short black skirt, with those spikes, whose cross-straps tied halfway up her endless legs.

“Did you two have a lovers’ quarrel?” Aiden asked, rocking on his heels, eyeing them, and catching a cat mid-catapult.

His friend’s comment cut too close to the surface for King’s peace, yet not close enough.

“The lady’s shirt tells me somebody didn’t finish what
he
started.” Aiden shook his head in a pitying way. “King, old boy, couldn’t you have loosened up for once and
forgotten
about work?”

King wanted to clock him.

“Hi, I’m Harmony Cartwright.” The hellcat cut Aiden’s sarcasm by shaking his hand. “I can’t believe Warlock likes you. He’s very picky about his people.”

Aiden picked up the cat to look it in the eye. “Hello there, Warlock. Nice to make your acquaintance. Are you and your mistress new residents of the asylum?”

“Ramrod, here, hired me.” Harmony elbowed him, and King wanted to elbow her right back. “I’m the witch whisperer in residence,” she added.

“Ramrod,” Aiden said with a bark of laughter. “Good call.”

“Hello,” Morgan said, shaking her hand. “You can’t be a witch whisperer, because witches don’t exist, except in people’s minds.”

“And yet, Paxton’s unreal resident witch shut the hell up when I walked in, or haven’t you noticed? Ramrod here is keeping me around for the duration. And you are . . . his fraternal twin?”

Morgan stiffened. “I’m sorry. I’m Morgan Jarvis.”

“I’m sorry you’re Morgan Jarvis, too.”

Morgan recovered quickly. “I’m the architect on this job and a paranormal debunker in my spare time.”

“Withering witch balls!” The hellcat said. “Then we should get along
just
fine.” Harmony and Aiden laughed, and King wanted to take a header off the balcony. He needed a shower and a good night’s sleep, but first, he needed to slake his lust with the witch, if lust this powerful could be slaked.

“I sense that you’re not just business associates,” Harmony told Aiden. “You’re too free with the insults, plus you invaded his . . .
suite
.”

“Actually,” Aiden said. “King and I went to military school together.”

“No way. Did you get thrown out together, too?”

“Ah, no. King did that by himself. I actually graduated.”

King frowned. “By the skin of his teeth.”

“Hmm. If King got thrown out and you finished, how come he’s the straitlaced tight ass, and you’re the scraggly stud muffin? I’d think you’d be the opposite.”

“Oh, I like this one,” Aiden said, hugging her and not letting go, the bastard. “She’s a keeper.”

Harmony raised a brow his way, which made King want to pull her from Aiden’s clutches.

“Morgan, do you and Paxton hail back to college, or something? You’re old friends, too, right?”

“And she’s perceptive as well. ” Aiden slid his hand from her shoulder to her waist, and if it landed on her ass, King was going to—

“Since senior year of high school,” Morgan said. “But I’m curious about your perception, Miss Cartwright. You classified my friends as tight ass and stud muffin, but you didn’t classify me?”

“You defy classification, Mr. Jarvis. What
are
you hiding?”

Aiden got out of firing range to play with the catapulting kitten squad.

“I assure you, Miss Cartwright, that I—”

“Oh I believe you have a degree in architecture, and some kind of paranormal gripe, but there’s more to you than you’re willing to admit.”

Morgan adjusted his cuffs. “No classification for me, I guess. I’m disappointed.”

“No, you’re not, but if it’s any consolation, the rest of the world doesn’t think what you’re hiding is as bad as you do.”

Caramello flew into Morgan’s arms as if to prove Harmony right. “What is this?” Morgan asked. “Adopt-a-cat day?”

“You’ve got me,” Harmony said. “They’re not people cats, but they’re all over the three of you.”

“Fine with me,” Morgan said, petting Caramello.

“I do have a description for you, after all,” Harmony said. “Morgan the mystic.”

He frowned. “I can’t be a mystic. I’m a debunker.”

Harmony nodded. “You’re right. I was going for alliteration, but let me clarify. I should have said Morgan the spiritualist.”

Aiden’s head came up, but King thought their serious friend held his own, considering.

Morgan shrugged. “However confused you are, Miss Cartwright, I do feel at peace with your try.”

“Harmony has that effect on people . . . and ghosts,” King said.

“And a keen sense of their flaws, I think.” Aiden ate her up with his look, damn him.

“By the way, Harmony, we always called him Morgan the Miserable,” Aiden said.

“Works for me. Hey, I don’t suppose you two would consider trying to talk Ramrod, here, into keeping the castle?”

Morgan tapped the designs on the table. “Too late. He’s already accepted an offer, and the clock is ticking for him to finish, or he’ll lose it. That’s why we’re here.”

“Watch out, King!” Harmony shouted, throwing herself at him so they both flew and landed on his sore butt, as a ceiling beam swung in and broke through the wall where he’d been standing.

“Son of a sea witch!”

Aiden and Morgan caught the beam to steady it and keep it from swinging back like a pendulum.

Harmony got up and leaned over the railing. “Everybody okay down there?”

“Yeah,” Curt said. “The winch snapped. Everybody okay up there?”

“We’re fine,” she said.

King rose and tried to ignore his throbbing butt.

“I don’t know why,” Morgan said. “But all the accidents in this place happen around you, King.”

“They do?” Harmony asked. “That’s odd . . . or not.”

Aiden touched her arm. “Why
isn’t
it odd?”

“You won’t want to hear this, but my theory is that Gussie—Ramrod’s witch ancestor who’s haunting the place—doesn’t want the castle to leave the family.”

That shut his friends up. King gave her a look that he hoped shouted, “Out!” and she got the message. “It was nice meeting you both,” she said. “I’ll leave you to your meeting.” She tried to swipe his briefcase, but King caught her arm, stopped her in her tracks, and crooked his hand for her to give it back. “I need that.”

“Oh, sure,” she said, handing it over. “Well, I’m glad Aiden and Morgan both have a good sense of humor. You should consider growing one in the next two minutes.” She turned to his friends. “You need to know that Ramrod challenged me to try to take the starch out of him. Bye.” She waved. “I’m off to keep the imaginary ghost quiet.”

“Harmony,” Aiden called after her. “Care to have dinner with me sometime?”

King watched the hussy’s gaze flit from his former friend to him and back. “I’d love to,” she said. “Thank you, Aiden.” And with that, she disappeared.

King figured his heart rate had risen because of his near accident, not because Harmony agreed to date Aiden.

“Damn,” King said, “I forgot to thank her for saving my life.” He looked at Aiden. “No matter. I’ll thank her tonight . . . in bed.”