Logan: Her Warlock Protector Book 3 (3 page)

Limits.

Like Adam who had paid for both Logan’s limited visions and plans in war as well as his lucky streak running out in blood. Logan flinched at the memory assaulting him—the splatter of bright crimson and the thick smell of copper. It broke his concentration.

“Hit me again.”

“Twenty-three,” Caitlin replied, winking. “And our debonair Irishmen busts.”

“I’m not a Mick,” he groused. “I was born only a few hours from Edinburgh.” Granted the city was barely cobble stoned back then. “But I see you have twenty. Good round, la–”

She reached out her hand and shook his. Then they both froze. The power emanating from her was more than he’d bargained for and far more than he’d experienced before from a fledgling witch. No wonder Jonathan had wanted her so badly. He felt everything flash through him, a warmth in his stomach and a stirring lower down. He wanted her. Logan wanted her in a way he hadn’t wanted any woman or witch in three centuries. That much need frightened and confused him, felt like a well he was about to plummet down, but that wasn’t all. Reaching up, he noticed that the sweat had dried and he was no longer clammy.

Hell, he felt like he could run the damn New York Marathon right then.

She was gaping back at him, her breath ragged, and she pulled back as quickly as if she’d been scalded. “I have to go.”

CAITLIN ADMITTED IT had been fun flirting with the James Bond wannabe who’d started playing at her table about an hour ago. Basically, the only men in her life were either Schnapps or sometimes bumping into Darren coming home from work. While Darren was hot, he had nothing on the Scotsman, who was every woman’s damn fantasy come to life. He was tall, maybe close to 6’6” with shoulders broad enough to have made Arnold Schwarzenegger in his glory days jealous. Not overly muscled, though. He wasn’t some gym rat who’d pumped steroids into himself. No, he was just tall, broad and gorgeous with eyes the color of winter ice and long black hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. It was oddly outdated and made her think of Gaston from
Beauty and the Beast
or someone from Revolutionary War history.

It looked amazing on him.

The biggest regret she’d had so far was that the casino had a dress code and that the tuxedo, while it hugged his frame admirably, wasn’t something skin tight or a Speedo. She needed to maybe move to Vegas and deal for a place with a pool. God, she really was pathetic. Still, Mr. MacCulloch was funny, engaging, and always deferred to her. Of course, he was also kicking her butt at the table, which never happened. They worked hard to make sure that the odds favored the House. She’d never seen someone hit a perfect twenty-one four times in a row. The odds on that were astronomical. It was almost a relief when he’d gone bust, proven that he wasn’t perfect. She’d noticed the beads of sweat starting to shine at his temples.

Then he’d touched her hand and everything had gone nuts.

Maybe Caitlin should have been more suspicious sooner, both with his luck and the fact that she hadn’t been able to read him in the cards, almost as if it had been deliberately blocked from her. Still, that one touch had sent electricity flowing all over her, deep into her core, and left her breathless.

But that wasn’t all of it.

That touch had brought out the most all-encompassing vision she’d ever had. For a few brief moments, she wasn’t in
The Club Regent
any longer. No. She was in a hotel room with sheets that clearly cost as much as a week’s salary, the finest thread count silk, that smoothly ran over her skin. They tickled every part of her, naked as she was, and Mr. MacCulloch. No, not like that. It was
Logan
. She was being held by him. His rugged scent was a mix of potent aftershave but also of some kind of metal, something like steel or copper. It was odd and confusing but nothing was confounding her about the way he held her. His lips were heaven on hers and she fell easily into the kiss, feeling the wetness spreading over her core.

It was the most intimate encounter she’d ever had.

Blinking back the vision, Caitlin stumbled back instantly.

No that hadn’t happened…yet
.

It was hard to swallow, and all she could do was blink back dumbly at Logan, feeling her confusion grow. He was eyeing her carefully, his brows furrowed, but he hadn’t reacted too much to her own confusion. God, she was some kind of pervert. It had to be a fantasy. She saw the future, but she certainly didn’t feel it, not with sounds and smells swirling through it. It was all a mistake. She’d been up into the early morning going over questions with Lt. O'Healy, and now she was just hard-up and desperate. Add in a hot guy and a nice exchange, and Caitlin had slipped into seeing and
feeling
things that just weren’t there.

“I’m sorry.”

“Caitlin?” he asked, reaching out for her.

She froze, scared another touch would set off a second Skinemax vision. Caitlin pulled back fast and avoided him. At the roulette table, her friend and fellow dealer, Morris, was eyeing both of them. Shaking her head, she pulled out her cell and called the floor manager.
 

“Alice, I’m sick. I need a substitute to come in. I just…”

There were words exchanged, and she was just relieved to have permission to go. After all, it was only Logan still at her table. Besides, even if her vision hadn’t been real, it was clear to Caitlin that the newcomer wasn’t here for some winnings. That man hardly needed it. Not with the Rolex on his wrist or the expensive tuxedo. No.

He’d come for her.

As the next dealer started taking up her slot, Caitlin rushed out of the casino and toward the back loading dock. It was cold in the Baltimore winter and a few chunks of ice were still caked onto the sidewalk from their latest snow storm. Still, it was what she needed. She clutched her purse tight to her and let her lungs take in frigid gasps, the cold her remedy for the disorientation from her vision. It was working; slowly she felt as if she was coming back to herself.

That was when Logan showed back up and set his tuxedo jacket over her shaking shoulders.

“You ran out so fast. I needed to make sure that you were still okay.”

“You’re a guest. You can’t be out here.”

“I doubt you’re supposed to be here either. You’re not a teamster, Caitlin.”

“Stop,” she said, shoving the jacket off and back into his arms.

“What?” he asked, inching toward her, and she’d been right about the scent, not just of some aftershave that probably cost a pretty penny per ounce but something of metal, something visceral beneath it. “I don’t understand.”

“I think you do. How were you able to get four twenty-ones in a row? Are you a cheat?”

“Hardly, darling.”

She shook her head. “I’m not your anything. I just…I came out here to get away from you.”

“You seemed afraid, and it’s not like a gentleman to leave a lady out in the lurch like this. Someone like you,” he added, reaching out and stroking her hair back from her face. “Deserves protection.”

Caitlin shuddered and forced herself not to lean into the touch. As confused and scared as she was, a large part of her was more than ready to put her cheek on the palm of his large hand, to feel all that small caress had to offer. Shaking her head, she pulled her neck back and glared at him.
 

“I don’t need anyone. I haven’t since my parents died. I take care of me and my sister, and the last thing I need is some scammer–”

“You know that’s not what I am.”

“I know you have incredible luck and something happened when you touched me.”

“That I can’t deny. There’s something special about you, Caitlin,” and with that he leaned down and kissed her lips.
 

She whimpered beneath his embrace and reached out to grip granite-like shoulders. Goddess, she warred with herself. A small part of her screaming she needed to end whatever this was as soon as she could, that this whole attraction was dangerous and playing with her sanity. Most of her, though, was screaming a different message and just hoping that he’d add a bit of tongue, really make her feel it.

Neither of these extremes happened, not quite.

Logan pulled back and stroked her face again.
 

“It’s not time for so much yet, but I want you to contact me. We need to be some place more discreet for everything we need to talk about.”

The card was in her hand before she knew it: Logan MacCulloch of Magus Corps.

“Wait, is this the weirdest job offer ever?”

“Not exactly, but it’s far more important. You know you’re special, don’t you.”

“Ugh, you were doing better without the bad pick-up lines,” she replied, her voice breathy. How could he make her go so weak? “I’m just a dealer like most of the other people here.”

He kissed her once more before turning and putting his jacket back on.
 

“Call that number and we’ll set up a date. You know you’re far more than that, that you can
see
more than most people can. I’m not going to elaborate here. You’re not the only one,” he offered, gesturing to his cufflinks. “There are a lot of us out there, and it’s time you found that out.”

She blinked, not quite understanding. At best, she was a self-taught Wiccan with a few skills, mostly with the crystal ball. Without her book, she was back to basics. Sure, there were people up in Salem and others too, but that was religious and ritual. What she did, what it had taken her a few years to truly believe and admit to, that was just her. Not even her parents had seemed to be “special.” Goddess knew that Sheila was ordinary. A wild child, sure, but ordinary and not anyone’s soothsayer.

There was no one else or was there?

“I don’t understand.”

“You do, though, and we’ll talk about it. Forget the phone call. Meet me tomorrow night at
Amicus
in Little Italy. I’ll be there at nine. We’ll discuss everything then.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“No, you do, and that’s your problem.”

“JESUS, WHAT THE Hell happened to your doorknob?” Sheila asked, turning around when Caitlin entered in through her duplex’s door.
 

Stormy grey eyes met hers and even though her sister was petite at barely five feet, Caitlin was suddenly terrified. She’d never felt she lived up to the redheads and tempers reputation, but the same could not be said for Sheila Louise Monroe.
 

“I get in to do some surprise cooking and it looks like someone’s been prying at your bedroom door? Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Caitlin replied, trying to keep her tone neutral. The last eighteen hours or so had been a whirlwind. All she wanted to do was collapse into bed and try not to obsess over one Logan MacCulloch and his intriguing offer or, Goddess help her, worry about her missing spell book.
 

“Just a really intense day at work.”

Off in the bedroom, she swore she could hear Schnapps chittering even more than usual. No, she wasn’t a liar and, damn it, her ferret didn’t understand English or excuses. It was all more of the exhaustion playing with her mind.
 

Her sister stopped mixing up the ground beef for the tacos. It smelled heavenly, and Caitlin put off starting that diet until next week between dinner tonight and the promise of Italian soon. Sheila put her hands on her hips. It might have been more threatening if Caitlin didn’t have about four inches on her.

“I’m serious,” Sheila said. “Something’s really wrong. You look just drained like right after–” her sister’s eyes widened and she corrected herself. “You just seem more tired than I’ve seen you in a long time.”

“Since Mom and Dad. You know we can admit it sometimes.”

“It’s easier though not to talk about it,” Sheila said. “It’s been ten years but I just…I was only nine and it feels like most of it is in fragments. I mostly just remember the nice policeman afterwards who offered me a blanket and kept me safe.”

“Exactly and you shouldn’t have to know more,” Caitlin replied, her hand straying to the scar above her right eyebrow, the nick where the hair never quite grew back.
 

At college, she’d joke and say it was the reason she never went skiing, that she’d tried to be a ski bunny at fifteen and wiped out. In reality, the intruder who’d murdered her parents had almost gotten to her too before the cops had burst in.
 

“I had a break-in.”

“What? And you didn’t tell me!”

“It was last night and I talked with the cops and filed a report. Only a few small things were missing. The thief didn’t even have time or didn’t want to, whichever, take my computer or TV. It's not a big deal.”

Sheila rolled her eyes, and it wasn’t hard then for Caitlin to remember that her sister was still a teenager.
 

“It’s a big freaking deal when someone almost hurts you.”

“I ran before I saw who and I had Schnapps. He does have big teeth.”

“I’m spending the night tonight and that’s final. Also, I’m bringing you mace and a baseball bat and that’s non-negotiable.”

“Yeah, I’m a real Babe Ruth. I’m sure I can take down people with a good swing.”

“You need something. I have a permit to carry a taser. You never know what can happen in a big city. God, we know that better than anyone!”

“I just didn’t want to worry you.”

Sheila sighed and started back to browning the rest of the meat. “I do worry, and that’s just how it’s going to be. That’s what sisters
do
. So I’m your new houseguest for a while whether you like it or not.”

“That sounds like a threat,” Caitlin replied, pulling out the lettuce and tomatoes from the grocery bags and starting to chop them up.

“And don’t you forget it.”

“I won’t.”

“Besides, I probably won’t have to be your personal bodyguard forever. Who’s that fine hunk of a man who greeted me across the porch?”

Caitlin laughed. Sometimes her sister overcompensated too much. She figured Sheila felt guilty that Caitlin had sacrificed a lot of her would-be, wild teenage years taking care of her. As a result, she was always trying to steer her in the way of new guys. Not that Caitlin needed them to complete herself, not at all. Still, Darren was gorgeous and, as scary as whatever was happening to her was, and as mysterious as Logan could be, there was something pushing her toward him. It felt like fate.