Vincent: Her Warlock Protector Book 5 (3 page)

"Actually, that's not entirely true. And, maybe it's the island culture or something, people just get on with it. They worry about hurricanes a lot more than which symbol is hanging around someone’s neck.”
 

Lionel stole a glance at the shaggy-haired man-boy sitting in his passenger's seat.
 

"I don't understand,” Lionel ground out through clenched teeth. He shook, swallowing anger so bitter it twisted his mouth and closed his throat. “How can you be a member of the clergy elite while forming truces and shopping at Wiccan stores
for your church
?”

"Galveston is special, man. I'm hiding in plain sight. Don't get me wrong, I believe most of what I preach. Universal love, peace, natural healing, equality, that sort of thing, but I draw the line at witches. There's just no room in the goddamn universe for witches."

Lionel chose to ignore the irony of a clergyman using the phrases "universal love" and "goddamn witches" in the same sentence.

"That's the politics of living on a small island. If you’re here to meet some pissed off Texas Rangers and kill a few people, you’re in the right place. If that’s not the attention you are looking for, I would lay low. Strictly a recon mission.” Hugh huffed out a breath. “I’m thirsty. Do you want an organic chai tea? I know a place. It's owned by a church."

"A real church?"

"How do you feel about the Methodists?"

"WANT TO COME back to my place?" Amanda said.

The phrase tumbled out of her mouth, surprising them both. Amanda had been seeing her ex-husband for at least a month before she’d finally asked him back to her place. Sure there had been a few flings over the past two years, but no one she had taken back home.

“Lead the way,” he said, his voice a low rumble from across the table.
 

Her stomach jumped to her throat, the flush of excitement crashed against her embarrassment for being so bold. They stood up at the same time. He helped her slip her coat over her shoulders. Standing close as she turned to him, he pulled the garment tight around her shoulders and buttoned it. He’d started at the bottom button and, as he worked his way up, the blood began to pound in her ears. With a deft movement, he hooked his index finger over the neckline and gave it a gentle tug.

“Are you ready?”

“
Yes
.”
 

It was more a breath than a word, barely escaping her lips.

He kissed her cheek then and stepped to the side to let her walk in front of him.

THIS IS A really bad idea,
Vincent thought, not that it helped.

Walking a few steps behind Amanda as they headed to their cars, he noticed that not even the coat could hide the rounded curves of her figure. Though he ought to be convincing her to join a coven or leave with him, following her was irresistible.

Suddenly the hair on Vincent’s arms stood on end as a blinding white Porsche pulled into the drive-thru lane of the coffee shop. The last time he saw that car was in St. Louis as he lay half-conscious on a warehouse's cold cement floor, the taillights disappearing into the distance.
 

Templar Knight Lionel Stone at was the wheel.

Their eyes locked.

THOUGH THE HEATER had run for two hours straight, Lionel shivered as a slimy cold sweat crawled out of his overheated skin.
 

“Why are you waving at that witch?" Lionel demanded, as they drove by.
 

The only way back to the front of the building was to complete the drive-thru circuit. They were hemmed in by other cars and curbing, stuck.
 

"She's my stylist."

Lionel's eyebrows rose in doubt. His gaze laser focused on Hugh.
 

"What information do you have on her? What's her speciality?"

“Welcome to Drogo’s coffeehouse,” came a tinny voice from the speaker. “May I take your order?”

Lionel jabbed his finger down on the window button. He ordered a chai tea latte in a rapid fire staccato that the barista made him repeat twice.
 

"She's not a witch, man,” Hugh said. “She's just a stylist. All of the known witches are accounted for and, as far as I know, no one new has come along."

Lionel thumped his palms against the steering wheel.
 

"Dude, do you need to pee or something?"

Lionel passed too much money to the barista, handed the drink to Hugh then shot the Porsche back into the parking lot to find Vincent Harcourt pressing the witch against the driver's side door of a vintage Mini, his hands wound in her hair, his mouth on hers, but his blue eyes focused on Lionel.
 

“I want to know everything. What is her name?”

"Amanda."

VINCENT’S SHOULDERS RELAXED as he watched the taillights of Lionel's Porsche disappear. He’d quickly embraced Amanda in a kiss purely out of instinct, part ruse for Lionel’s benefit, part protection. Though he’d taken her by surprise, she’d given in quickly. Though the threat was gone, he found he didn’t want the ploy to end. He indulged in one more sweet slide of Amanda’s tongue along his before he pulled back from the kiss. He took a breath, then smiled down at her.
 

"Ready?"

“Oh gods, yes."

He noticed that her hands trembled as she fumbled with the keys in the lock, and quickly checked over his shoulder for the Porsche. The street was clear. As she climbed into the Mini, he held the door.
 

“I’ll be right behind you,” he said, closing it.

He heard the engine start as he trotted to his Charger, checking the street again. He jumped in, gunned the engine, and took off in pursuit. They were headed west on the seawall when his phone rang, the video screen on the dashboard flashing Louis's photograph. Vincent hit the switch on the steering wheel.
 

"Why didn’t you tell me that I went to High School with Amanda? I didn't recognize her."

"What do you mean you didn't recognize her?” Louis said, irritation in his voice. “It's on the first page of the file I sent you, which you obviously didn’t read.”

“Look,” Vincent said with a sigh, “ever since that exorcism in St. Louis–”

"Stop saying that." Louis did an unflattering impersonation of Vincent. “Ever since the exorcism, ever since the exorcism." He dropped the impersonation. "I get it. It was hard. Your hair turned even cooler looking.” He paused and softened his tone. “But you’re an exorcist. It’s in the job description. And whatever happened, it did not leave you illiterate."

"So I should look at the file or can you just give me a head’s up?”

Vincent thought he could hear keys being tapped.

“Divorced two years,” Louis said. “She has yet to reveal a talent, has recently introduced aromatherapy as part of the salon experience, and has a familiar.”

“What’s her familiar?”

“Uh, I think this is a misprint, but nothing vicious. Wait. Why do you want to know about her familiar?”

“Just being thorough.”

“Right. Where are you on this? About wrapped up?”

“May take a week.”

“A week? In Galveston?”

“I like the beach.” Vincent said dryly.
 

“It’s twenty-five degrees out. Is there a problem? I can come down there, if…”

“Lionel is here,” he said abruptly.

Vincent listened to the engine whine in protest as he slowed down to avoid a turning car.

“You are the only reason for him to be there,” Louis said, biting off the words. “I don’t know what happened in St. Louis, but you need to figure out what he wants and end it. Forever is too long to spend playing cat and mouse. Do you need to come back in?”
 

“I'm fine,” Vincent said, checking the rear view mirror. The Porsche was nowhere in sight.

"The response of happy, healthy people everywhere,” Louis said.
 

Vincent darted around a pick-up truck and didn’t reply.

“All right,” Louis said. “Just be safe, brother.”

“Will do,” Vincent said and thumbed the button on the wheel.

AMANDA WAS KEENLY aware of Vincent following her up the stairs to the front door.
 

"That sheep statue is strange,” he said quietly.

The sheep was wedged into a tight corner of the picket fence that enclosed Amanda's small backyard.

"That's Dalya."

"Dalya, the sheep?" As she unlocked the door, she heard him pause. "Dalya the sheep is the–"

"Mine,” she said, pushing the door open.

From where he stood, they could see the entirety of the small beach house. Bathroom to the back left, kitchen to the right, bedroom dead ahead. There were hardwood floors, white walls, a short leather chesterfield sofa, a bed, a basket which contained a journal, and not much else.
 

Amanda kicked off her Chucks and turned toward him as he closed and locked the door. His broad back to her, Amanda only realized when he turned to her that she’d begun to reach for him. Startled, she dropped her hands.

“Why are you still wearing this?” he asked lowly, undoing the top button of her coat.

Again the rush of blood in her ears pounded so loudly, almost all sound was blotted out. Slowly he worked his way down, opening it and sliding it from her shoulders. He tossed it over the back of the sofa, followed quickly by his jacket.

“You wear a gun?” she asked, staring at it.

It was some sort of black handgun, and it was huge. He’d begun to take off the holster but hesitated.

“Protect,” he said quietly, as though his thoughts had drifted off.

For a few agonizing moments, Amanda thought he might put the gun right back on, and then his jacket.

“Don’t stop,” she heard herself say.

His intense blue eyes flicked up at hers, but then he slipped the holster from his shoulders.
 

Amanda watched the muscles of his back move under his shirt as he rolled his shoulders now that the holster was off. Two steps and the palms of her hands were pressed against the cotton of his shirt, feeling those tight muscles shift. His head tilted back with a loud groan as she pressed the heels of her hands in and spread her fingers to knead her way up his back and across his shoulders.
 

"Jesus, that's good."
 

“It’d feel a lot better if you took the shirt off."
 

He spun around, caught her around the waist with his left arm and pulled her body flush against his. The soft pads of his fingers grazed her cheek as he leaned down, cobalt eyes locked on hers until the very last second. Soft and wet, it was an adoration more than a kiss, his mouth hot against her cool lips. The first kiss was followed by another and another, the top lip then the bottom, each lip sucked slowly between his, teeth scraping just enough to tease, to torture, but not enough to pull away.

Amanda knew she was going to be driven mad by the jolts of arousal that spiraled from her lips through her body, as she crushed herself against him, her mouth open to his to be tasted. Then he pulled away—that fraction of an inch too far away. The sensitive skin of her lips felt the breeze of his shallow breaths and caused her to moan. His tongue flickered across her bottom lip.
 

"Why didn't we do this in high school?" he asked, his hands teasing along the hem of her blouse.

Breathless, she staggered backward toward the bed, hand wrapped in the placket of Vincent’s dress shirt pulling him along with her.
 

"You’d have been lousy in High School."

His eyebrows drew together as a flash of consternation crossed his chiseled features. But then he grinned, eyes alight.
 

"You're right, I'm much better now."
 

He was back on her, mouth open, both of his hands twisted in her hair, moving her head in tandem with his, as his mouth demanded that hers surrender.
 

Dizzy from the onslaught, her left hand pressed against his chest, right hand still wound in the front of his shirt, torn between pushing him away and climbing him like a tree. Fingers trembling, she unbuttoned his shirt, pulled the tail free of his pants, and opened the front to expose his solid pecs.

He shivered when she ran her manicured nails down his chest, then bent to tease his nipple with her tongue. Her fingers brushed past his navel as she wrapped her hand around his belt buckle, his hips thrusting against her touch. He gently tugged at her hair, her face turning up towards him even as she pulled open his belt.
 

"Do you like this blouse?" he asked, his voice throaty.

For a moment she didn’t understand. Then her face flushed.

“No,” she managed to get out.

He smiled and gently pushed her hands away from his zipper. Lips parted, she panted as he wound his fingers into the low V of her black knit shirt and pulled. The fabric's rending was loud in the small room. Her nipples jutted out, pulling the sheer fabric of her bra tight.
 

She shook the remnants of her shirt off her shoulders. His lips were shiny, slick where her mouth had been, his pupils blown wide as he took her in. She straightened her shoulders and shook her hair back as his eyes drifted over her breasts and lingered on the waistband of her skirt.
 

"Is it a matching set?"

“Yes,” she said.

He unzipped his pants, his thick bulge laying hard against his abdomen under gray boxers. The bright pink tip was visible above his waistband, twitching as she licked her lips. He looked to the waistband of her miniskirt then back to her face, his eyes hungry. His arms wound around her, finding the skirt’s zipper. Again, she heard fabric rip, felt his biceps flexing along her ribs. The skirt hit the floor with a whisper. She stepped out of it and flicked it away with her right foot. He placed his hands on her upper arms and pushed her back onto the bed.
 

As he stood over her, his eyes roamed over her body while from his left pants pocket he pulled two condoms and threw them on the bed beside her. A third then landed next to her hip. Amanda glanced at the condoms, then at Vincent as he toed off his shoes and finally pushed his pants to the floor.