Gone With the Witch (3 page)

Just as well. If he told her he was leaving town, she
might try to seduce him into staying and revealing ... all.

Were secrets even possible around the scintillating psychic? "Are you the triplet who senses the past or the future?" he asked her. Please, God, let it be the future.

"I'm the triplet with the psychic power no one understands." Storm sighed. "I hear and see the present, of all
things. Like the crying baby attached to you, who smells of
baby powder and apricots, and makes me crave Froot
Loops with chocolate milk. Like the fact that you really don't
want
to be with me at all."

Aiden scoffed, rather than admit how much he did want
her and how bad he'd be for her. "I want ... to be your
friend."

Storm rolled her eyes. "Moving on
. '
I know that you're
as attracted to me as I am to you, which everybody knows,
by the way, except they're sure we're sleeping together.
Foolish them."

Aiden pulled the stunner against him and let his body ride the rhythm of hers, and after a few dazed minutes, he came to his senses. "Why would we go and ruin a great friendship by sleeping together?"

"Exquisite pleasure," she whispered, her answer warm
ing his ear as she bit his lobe, making him shiver, standing
his every nerve on end, and diverting his blood from his brain to points south. "Satisfaction," she purred.

Aiden's mouth went d
ry
.
His mind went blank. What were they talking about? Oh yeah, sleeping together, but why ... because they were most certainly
not
sleeping together ... un-freaking-fortunately. How stupid was he?

"I think people confuse sex with romance," he said. "They want romance, but they think of it in sexual terms.
It's
romance we need. Bantering is romantic, especially with someone who loves and knows how to banter, like
you. And teasing ... I'm an inveterate tease, and 'I
can
do romance. I just can't get involved."

"You couldn't be romantic if it came up and bit you in the
butt."

"Thank you," he said. "I needed that splash of cold
water."

"You're pissin' me off, McCloud. You're lucky 'I didn't
throw crushed ice and that you didn't need it for your
halls." She stomped on his foot with a spiked heel.

Aiden groaned, winced, and danced faster to keep his feet
and her heels apart. "Trading insults," he said, "challenging
each other, saying things you wouldn't say to anyone else, that’s rom
an
ce. Women need men,
an
d
men need women.
They need romance. Dancing is a form of rom
an
ce" God he
sounded like a babbling idiot.

"You didn't
want
to dance with me, and as Destiny
would say, `There's dancing, and there's ... dancing.'
"
Storm
raised an arm, pressed a breast against his tailcoat over the racing beat of his heart, and toyed with the hair at his nape, a move that never failed to arouse. Good thing they were as close as two pieces of
an
X-rated puzzle.

"Storm, you're the best friend I've ever had. Let's not
ruin it with—"

"Yep, it was friendship at first sight for us," she said, wit
d
ry
,
sarcasm palpable, and still he fell into the sensual pull of her gaze.

With determination and difficulty, he withdrew from
her spell. "We're great friends," he reiterated.

"Well, friend, in that tux you look lip-smacking, chocolate-dipping delicious, and 'I could eat you up with a spoon."

"I don't think spooning is allowed between friends.”

“Neither is poking a friend on the dance floor with the steel cattle prod in one's pants."

chapter
four

LEAVING his
thinking to his insane man brain, Aiden
about died of bliss as Storm continued to thigh-stroke him
with wicked intent, taking him dangerously close to
breaking his vow of celibate independence.

To distract himself, he scrutinized her with the eye of an
artist examining a fine painting, but he found only perfection in the artwork of her creator, and more pleasure with every brush of her thigh.

She'd gone traditional for her sister's wedding, or as traditional as a
goth
could get. Easy on the eye makeup, four
aquamarine studs in each ear—rather than cow bells or
wind chimes—and her normally spiked, multicolored hair was now more blue than black and tamed to an under curl at her shoulders.

The ultimate kicky seducer—two thin blue strands of hair on each side of her face—skimmed her cheeks and curled beneath her chin to form an inverted heart.
Turned him on like crazy.

Incredibly beautiful ... and sexy as sin.
Like a sex
storm in a prizewinning package and all his to unwrap at will.
Effin' A.
He might have a heart attack thinking about it, never mind denying himself.

As if she understood his determination to keep his distance—big witchy twitchy surprise—Storm pulled out
all the stops by allowing her innate sexuality free rein. She
stopped trying to control her body and let it control
her ..
. Hell, she let it control them both.

She blew in his ear
an
d
sent shivery warmth to every warning signal in his highly revved libido.

"Come away with me," she cajoled, her throaty whisper
enough to make him ready, which meant he should get in his motor coach and d
ri
ve for two weeks straight, put thou
sands of miles between them, fifty states—yes, he'd have
to d
ri
ve all
th
e
way to Alaska to get
th
e
sex storm out of his
system.

When she slid her hand slow and low down his back, his
body turned traitor, and his cock took over his thinking
big time. Getting away would be nothing short of self-preservation, like swimming for his life from the jaws of a shark—big, mean, hungry, fangs sharp.

Did sharks have fangs? Storm did.

He had to get the hell out of Dodge. He'd leave right
after
th
e
reception, if not sooner.

As they swayed to the music, her curves caressed her gown in a play of sensual movement—smokin' hot and
working it—no cares or inhibitions ... except for that
quick upward glance to see if she'd amply tested his self-imposed celibacy.

Not that she knew about the celibacy, or the how and why of it, she just

Ah hell, she was
psychic.
She probably did know.

Well, if she did, and she hadn't killed him yet, he
guessed that was a good sign. If she didn't know, no wonder she'd questioned his libido.

Which alternative was worse? Letting her think he was a dud?
Or letting her in on his dumb ass declaration of independence.

Dud.

He
wanted
to prove his staying power—did
he
ever—
but he couldn't afford to pay the price.

The dance ended. He kissed her h
an
d. "Thank you for
the most memorable dance of my life," he said and handed
her off to the nearest breathing male.

Aiden headed for the bar and the kind of courage that came from a bottle.

Another mark against her.
She was driving him to drink.
"I'll have a scotch," he told the bartender.

"Ignoring her isn't working, is it?" Morgan asked, suddenly beside him.

"Who died and made you psychic? How can you ignore
a walking orgasm in the shape of a goddess with magick laughter and satin skin? I'm hooked."

"By the saints," Morgan said. "You're
not
hooked.”

“Damn straight I'm not"

Morgan chuckled. "She's already taken you off her
hook. Now you're buttered, battered, and trembling in hot grease."

"Damn it, Morgan! Screw you"

"I wish somebody would." Morgan downed his cham
pagne. "You gonna go on that t
ri
p she's got planned for the
two of you?"

"Hell no.
Do 'I look crazy to you?"

"You look like you need to get laid."

"Well, that makes two of us. Schmuck and Schmuck Incorporated."

Morgan ordered a scotch. "The difference between us is
that I don't have an engraved invitation from the woman
of my wet dreams to end my suffering. You do"

"You wouldn't take an invitation if you had one." Aiden
picked up his scotch. "But if you did take it, you'd have nothing to lose."

"They're witches, psychics, everything 'I deny. I'd have my belief system to lose."

"You lost
that years
ago. You just haven't figured it out
yet."

"Thanks for the heads-up, but we were talking about
your
problem." Morgan looked over at Storm. "How can you say no to that?"

"Easy. I'll steer clear of her for the rest of the night and leave right after the b
ri
de and groom. I'll be in
Alaska
be
fore Storm knows I'm gone. I don't even have to talk to her
again tonight, if 'I don't want
to "

"That's the problem, friend. You want to"

"Smart ass!"
Aiden finished his scotch, slammed his
glass on the bar, and ordered a cup of coffee. "But I'm a man with a great deal of
practiced
self-control."

"Yeah, yeah," Morg
an
said. "I've done a lot of practicing myself."

King joined them. "Aiden, the photographer wants a couple more shots of you and Storm."

"Why?" Aiden ignored Morgan's chuckle.

"To follow up on that kiss for a magazine article about wedding reception romances."

"Hooked, cooked, and topped with a
hot
lemon butter sauce," Morgan said, lifting his glass.
"To schmucks who need to get
laid."

Aiden confiscated the glass and emptied it.
"Two
schmucks."
He slammed it on the bar. "Morgan, what if 'I turn the tables on her, make her think I'm taking her up on
her offer, and scare her into running long enough for me to
get away?"

"You get far enough to scare that one, and you won't have the willpower to run. What the hell makes you think she'll resist?"

"I can be resistible."

"I don't bloody doubt it, but that one's got a homing
chip in her panties, and you're the mother ship."

chapter
five

STORM, her sisters, and their magick cats stepped outside
for a spell ... or three. Des took her arm. "It looked like
Aiden couldn't get away from you fast enough after that
last set of pictures."