Witch Is The New Black (7 page)

“Greta was my parole officer when I first came to Paris and worked at Miss Marjorie’s Preschool for the Magically Inclined.”

Greta stuck a square hand out to her and narrowed her gaze, but she had a smile in place when Bernie set her hand in the parole officer’s. “Sorry I missed you this afternoon at lunch, but duty called elsewhere. Good to meet you, Bernice. I’m who you’ll report to every day once your work at the farm is done.”

Winnie barked and snarled then giggled some more. “BIC’s all bark, no bite. She’s our local pussycat wrapped in ferocious-parole-officer tiger. She’s also one of the reasons I’m where I’m at today.”

Greta nudged Winnie in the ribs, placing her fingers securely around the whistle at her neck. “Quit undermining my authority and making me sound like some gooey pushover or I’ll use the whistle.”

“Oh noooo,” Daphne squealed, waving her hands in the air, making her bracelets jangle. “Not the whistle!”

Trying to keep her face passive but friendly, Bernie let Winnie introduce her to everyone, hoping to escape soon to the buffet laid out on the enormous dining room table.

But yet another amazingly gorgeous woman, with fiery red curls spilling down her back and breasts the size of swimmies, stepped in front of her—latched onto none other than Ridge.

Her shiny earrings sparkled beneath the glow of the recessed lighting, as did her incredible cleavage, housed in a skintight sheath dress in turquoise that looked completely out of place at a barbeque where jeans and T-shirts were the chosen attire.

“Bernie, is it?”

Her mouth went dry suddenly as this woman’s red-tipped fingers trailed along Ridge’s arm in an intimate fashion that screamed
mine
.

“Um, yes. It is. Bernie, I mean. Nice to meet you.”

“Violet Hammond, Ridge’s girlfriend.”

Her chest tightened as if someone had put a vise grip on it and clamped down hard. Of course her gorgeous boss had a girlfriend. A man who looked as though he were chiseled from stone
should
have a girlfriend with almond-shaped blue eyes and legs up to her long, graceful neck.

Ridge cleaned up exactly, maybe even predictably, as expected. He wore a white T-shirt beneath a black casual jacket, jeans that fit him like they’d been painted on his thick thighs, and his white Stetson propped on top of his yummy head.

Jesus and ten Calvin Klein models, he was such a man.

Bernie? I’m sensing something—a shift in your breathing. Slow your roll and breathe. Just breathe
, Fee husked out in her head.

“Cuuute top,” Violet drawled, plucking at her shirt with bird-like fingers.

Bernie backed away and wiped her sweaty palms on the thighs of her grandma jeans. “Thank you, Miss Hammond.”

“Did you make it in a craft class while you were in
prison
or something?” Violet asked sweet as pie, swishing her finger to circle the general vicinity of Bernie’s shirt.

Nice boobs. Did you pump them up at the gas station?

Bernie! Leave this viper and her venom now. Slap on your resting bitch face, walk away, and let’s go have some fried chicken and potato salad. Please?

Inhaling, she decided to take Fee’s advice, but with a smile. Bernie smiled as wide as her face would allow. “It’s nice to see you, Mr. Donovan. Thank you for coming. I’m going to go grab some of those ribs. Hope you two have a great evening.”

Ridge reached a broad hand out to her. “Bernie, wait—”

But Bernie ignored him and made her way past the buffet and out the wide French doors leading to the garden as quickly as she could, leaving even Fee in her dust.

The tension brewing in her stomach had become a sign she could sometimes feel just before mayhem erupted. It didn’t always give her this kind of warning, but in this instance, with Violet throwing her breasts around like beach balls at a pool party, that dread in her belly was clear as day and she was paying heed. If nothing else, she was determined to keep from trashing Winnie and Ben’s beautiful home.

She found a small corner table near the shed, away from the soft music filtering into the yard, away from so many people, away from Violet, who had quite clearly staked her claim on Ridge for all the world to see.

Bernie closed her eyes, leaning her head against the shed, fighting to control the urge to run back in and clock Violet in her smug crimson lips.

Breathing inward, she tried to focus on other things.

Like what Ridge looked like naked.

Oh God.

Chapter 5

“
W
hat
are you doing?” asked Violet. Or, as he’d come to refer to her in his mind because he was convinced she had eight hands, Octopussy.

He glared down at her, infuriated by her shitty behavior. “What do you mean, what am
I
doing?”

She tried to yank her arm away from his grasp as he escorted her toward the front porch of Winnie and Ben’s, planning to deposit her right outside where she belonged—away from polite, nonjudgmental company.

“I think you’d better let go of me. This can’t be appropriate!” she ordered, her face flushed.

He paused after pulling her out onto the wide porch and frowned. This from the woman who’d literally lunged at him and stuck her tongue down his throat after one blind date arranged by a friend?

“Appropriate? You’re one to talk, Violet,” he rumbled. After she’d openly, purposely insulted Bernie, Violet had taken off to freshen up, which gave him a moment to gather his wits so he could remain a gentleman. But no way was he going to let her behavior go unaddressed.

Yet, she was backing away from him as though he were Satan himself. “It’s hardly appropriate for me to be out here alone on the porch with you.”

He’d wanted to strangle her when she’d openly mocked Winnie’s clothes while she was in a dress that cost more than most people made in a month. Violet was rich, spoiled and rude, and she’d set her sights on him a couple of months ago, and hadn’t let up since.

He’d avoided her calls after the initial coffee date, where he’d told her as honestly as possible he wasn’t interested in a relationship or dating. But Violet didn’t take no for an answer—or she really liked a good game of cat and mouse.

The moment she’d seen him arrive tonight was the moment she’d latched onto his arm. There was no getting around the fact that they would run into each other at community events, but this possessive nature of hers was for the birds.

Either way, the next time he saw his good buddy Holt, he was gonna kick his ass from here to Sunday for ever setting him up with this nutcase with the roaming hands and haughty disdain for anyone who didn’t own a Mercedes.

Seeing Bernie’s eyes flash but watching her actively clamp her mouth shut to keep from reacting to Violet’s obvious snub almost physically hurt to witness. She was already walking on eggshells. That much had been apparent after the barn fiasco today when she’d profusely apologized.

Maybe her being on parole meant she thought she had no rights, and that was why she hadn’t reacted to Violet’s snub. But the hell he was going to allow anyone to humiliate her in public because she thought her hands were tied.

“Let go of me!”

Ridge rocked back on his heels and cocked his head. “Did you miss your meds today, Violet? And speaking of
appropriate
? It’s not appropriate for you to talk to people that way. Don’t
ever
do it in my company again. Understood?”

Violet looked him in the eye, hers wide and full of fake innocence. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. But we hardly know each other, and I can’t afford to have people talking about me if they see us out here alone. I’m not going to risk it.”

He squinted into the velvety night as she began to walk backward toward the wide steps, leading to the old Victorian’s circular driveway. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Just leave me alone!” she yelped, turning to take the steps with a clack of her heels until the night swallowed her whole.

Ridge blinked in confusion but decided to chalk Octopussy’s behavior up to too many apple martinis and not enough food to absorb the alcohol. He definitely didn’t have a problem leaving Violet alone. Not one.

Problem solved.

He found his feet propelling him in the direction of the interior of the house again, his eyes in search of Bernie.

Why he was so intent on finding her was a mystery. She’d been cool as a cucumber all afternoon while they’d worked to clean the barn. Answering when spoken to, avoiding all eye contact.

But he hated the hint of shame in her eyes. Hated that she might feel lesser than that viper Violet, and he was damn well going to tell her so.

If he could just find her.

Threading his way through the crowd of people, he tipped his hat to Gus Mortimer, one of the seniors from the center, as he made his way back toward the kitchen.

Pausing at the bar, he grabbed a beer from a big bucket and scanned the room. No Bernie.

Arms snaked around his waist from behind, pulling him tight to a lithe form, totally catching him off guard.

“Where’d you run off to after I went to the ladies’ room? You’re not trying to get away from me, are you, Cowboy?” someone whispered low in his ear as a tongue snaked out and licked the lobe of flesh.

Violet?

He spun around, trying to detangle himself from her aggressive hands. “I thought you left?”

She licked her lips, the smell of alcohol rife on her breath when she leaned in even closer. “I told you I was just going to the ladies’ room. Now, why don’t we get out of here and go back to my place? I do things, you know. Lots and lots of
things
.”

“Like forget your meds?”

She pouted at him, likely a pout most men tripped over themselves to fix, and grabbed the lapels of his jacket to pull him closer still. “Why are you being so naughty, Ridge Donovan?” she slurred.

He grabbed her wrists and set her away from him. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, Violet, and to be real honest, I don’t want to know. I’ve tried to be as gentlemanly as possible, but I’m not interested, and I’d appreciate it if you kept your hands to yourself. So let’s say our goodbyes here.” He tipped his Stetson at her. “Night, Miss Violet.”

He let her wrists go in time to see her eyes flash the kind of hatred only a woman scorned could summon before he slipped around her and headed out to find Bernie.

But not before he made mention to Ben that Violet shouldn’t drive home.

* * * *

“Bernie?”

A warm hand shook her shoulder, warm and large, followed by a deep, delicious voice calling her name.

“Bernie? Are you okay?”

Her eyes popped open as she jolted backward, cracking her head on something. She winced, her hand reaching for the back of her neck. Her gaze flew up to find Ridge looking down at her, his eyes far less sharp than they’d been this afternoon.

“Let me help you up,” he grumbled.

“No, thank you. I’m fine,” she managed, feeling incredibly groggy as she braced her hands on the floor to rise.

Wait. The floor? Hadn’t she been out in the garden?

Where the hell was she?

Bernie’s gaze zipped past Ridge’s cowboy boots and noted cans stacked on shelves, a Swiffer, and more juice boxes than an elementary school cafeteria housed.

“Where am I?”

“The pantry, Bernie,” Ridge offered before ignoring her wishes and yanking her upward.

She fell into him, their bodies caught between the shelves at her back and the door someone had just closed at Ridge’s. The space was small, allowing almost no room for either of them to move.

Her breathing quickened as her heart pressed painfully against her ribs in a rapid thud. Every ripple in his body was hot against her bedazzled shirt, his warm breath almost minty against her cheek. His thick thighs straddling her much shorter frame made her sway.

Oh, this wasn’t good. Not good at all. No fraternizing with the boss.

Ridge caught her under her elbows to steady her, but he didn’t move away, making the tightening of her nipples impossible to ignore. They pressed painfully against the borrowed bra she wore, and heat rose in her belly—hot, needy heat.

She wanted to knock his Stetson off his head, rake her fingers through his thick chocolate-brown hair, press her lips to his mouth and consume him. All of him. Now.

Which was likely frowned upon in parolee/boss relations.

The suddenness of it caught her off guard. The desire was instantaneous. So immediate, she almost stopped breathing. Earlier today he’d been super-hot, but distractedly so, in a sort of yeah-yeah, he’s-easy-on-the-eyes-but-I-have-bigger-fish-to-fry sort of way.

Now? Now he was undeniably oozing sex appeal.

Ridge reached behind him, his hand jiggling the doorknob, his wide chest expanding farther, pushing against hers until she thought she’d weep. “I think someone locked us in.”

In Fee’s words, she felt faint. Jesus and a juice box, if she didn’t get away from all this smokin’ body and manly scented man, she would explode.

Licking her dry lips, she tried to slip around him, knocking over a box of cereal and scattering the colorful circles on the floor. “I’m sorry. I’ll clean that up as soon as we get out of here.”

Ridge gripped her chin, his eyes piercing hers as his thumb sizzled against the flesh of her jaw. “Relax, Bernie. It was just an accident.”

Yeah, that was how all the really rotten things in her life started. Accidents. Oops, sorry I set your hair on fire. Oops, sorry I knocked you down a flight of stairs and broke your arm. Oops, oops, oops. For most of her teenage years, she was like Carrie at the prom minus the buckets of blood.

After graduation, she’d learned to stay as far away from people as possible for a very long time. Every job she took involved working in one cubicle or another, alone as much as possible.

And just a year before she’d met Eddie, after her parents had died in a home invasion the police never solved, she’d really begun to isolate herself, moving from job to job, apartment to apartment, living off the insurance money her parents had left her between failed jobs.