Witch Is The New Black (Paris, Texas Romance #3)

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.