Maximum Witch

chapter Four


Willa glanced at the bedside clock for the millionth time and gusted a heavy exhale. Okay, in reality they hadn’t really been gone that long. There was no reason to assume they were standing over her stripped-down car, scratching their heads over why anyone would want parts from a fifteen-year-old Taurus.

Unable to take it anymore, she jumped off the bed and began pacing the carpet. Her attention fell on the cordless phone on the nightstand. As much as she appreciated Max’s offer to let her stay the night, she felt kind of weird about taking him up on it. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him. He’d been nothing but an absolute gentleman from the moment she’d regained consciousness. But it’d probably be better if she found someone else to watch over her tonight.

Unfortunately, the only person she could really ask was her best friend, Marabella. Willa’s aunt Aurele lived all the way in Atlanta. Definitely not convenient. Plus she didn’t like the idea of worrying Aurele. Hoping Max wouldn’t mind her using his phone, she picked it up and punched in Marabella’s number. Almost immediately, a computerized female voice came on announcing that Marabella’s voice mail was full and to try the call again later. Scrunching her lips in frustration, Willa hung up and settled the cordless into the charger. More than likely Marabella was out on a date. Which meant she wouldn’t be available to come pick Willa up anytime soon.

Looks like I’m stuck with Max. What a hardship that was. Ignoring the sexy shiver that shimmied down her spine, she abandoned the bedroom and walked down the hall. She passed a room that appeared to be a den. Or maybe a small home office. Nosiness getting the better of her, she stepped inside the dimly lit space. A black modular desk was tucked against the farthest wall. Silver-framed photos lined the upper shelf. Lured by the possibility of learning more about Max, she crossed to the desk and clicked on the candlestick lamp so she could inspect the pictures. There was one of Max receiving some kind of award. She leaned forward, squinting as she tried to make out the words inscribed on the plaque in his hands. Finally she gave up and moved on to the next photo. This one was of Max again, only this time he was flanked on either side by a beaming older couple. Max and the other man shared a remarkable resemblance, leading her to believe it must be his father.

She took in the obvious love and affection radiating from the trio and was reminded of her own parents. The photo blurred as her eyes became misty and a cramp squeezed just above her rib cage. Even after all these years, she missed her mom and dad with a fierceness that ached in her soul. Although her aunt Aurele had tried her best to make up for the loss of Willa’s parents all these years, nobody could completely fill the void of their absence.

Her mind returned to Max’s startling—and completely erroneous—conclusion about her being anything other than human. She’d had time to think about it and kept circling back to the one damning thing that proved him wrong.

Her parents drowned, her nearly along with them. They hadn’t possessed some miraculous ability to breathe under water.

Neither did she.

A beam of light glanced off the frames and expanded, imprinting the stark silhouette of her head against the wall. Headlights. Her morose musings scattered. She pivoted and spied her Taurus pulling into the driveway. Giving a happy yip, she rushed from the room. She reached the front door the same time Max did. The second he stepped across the threshold, she flung her arms around him. “Thankyouthankyouthankyou.”

Something plunked onto the tiled entry, and an instant later Max’s palms slipped around her back, their heat sinking through the thin cotton of the shirt. His scent enveloped her, heady and fresh as the ocean. She shivered, swimming in sensory overload.

His fingers splayed and tightened in a tempting caress before sliding free. He swallowed, the intriguing flex of his throat muscles working when his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Sorry, I dropped your bag.”

Snapping out of her sensual haze, she lowered her scrutiny to the floor. And gasped. “My purse!” Relief sweeping her, she crouched onto her haunches and hugged the bag to her chest. “Amazing how you don’t realize how much you rely on something until it’s not handy.” She plopped the oversized tote between her feet and rifled through the compartments until she located her spare glasses. After wiping a tiny smudge with the hem of the T-shirt, she tucked the tortoise frames in place and smiled. “Case in point—being able to see clearly again. Hallelujah.”

She looked up and found Max staring at her. He mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like sexy librarian, and she blinked. “What?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.” Shoving a hand through his dark, close-cropped hair, he eased the front door shut with the heel of his shoe. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay. A little tired.” Her stomach rumbled, the noise making her blush. “Hungry too, from the sound of it.”

“I could make us something to eat.”

She gaped at him. “You can cook?” A grin tipped the corners of his mouth and she chuckled. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make it sound like you being able to cook was a miraculous feat or something. It’s just that most of the guys I know can barely figure out how to work their microwave.”

“My mom is the executive chef at a restaurant in Galveston. She taught me everything I know.”

Her sigh broke free before she could snuff it. “You’re gorgeous and can cook. Please let me have your babies.” No sooner did the statement escape and a pregnant silence blanketed the foyer. Eyes widening, she met Max’s intense gaze. “Could we, uh, pretend I didn’t just say that out loud?” She nibbled her bottom lip, her skin flushing.

His focus drifted to her mouth, lingered there for a moment before he took a deep breath and scratched the back of his neck. “I think we better figure out the food situation.”

The idea of following him into the kitchen and watching him do questionably sexy things, like brown butter or chop onions—shirtless, no less—sounded way too inviting. And risky, considering her mind couldn’t seem to stop conjuring images of them getting busy beneath the sheets. Still, she couldn’t exactly bow out of helping without looking like a spoiled princess who expected to be waited on hand and foot. Biting the bullet, she traipsed after him, trying not to ogle his ass.

Max’s kitchen was a testimony to his obvious passion for the culinary arts. Moss-green granite countertops blended seamlessly with stainless-steel appliances. The crown jewel was a large center island housing a Jenn-Air range. She waited next to the counter, eyeing the delicious selection of oranges piled in a red-and-white speckled colander. The sound of water splashing while Max washed up muffled the resulting grumble of her stomach. She couldn’t understand why she was so damn hungry. Famished, actually. Like it’d been days since she’d last eaten, rather than hours.

“You’re not a vegetarian, are you?”

She glanced at Max, her tummy getting that funny tingle again as she watched him lather up his hands. Okay, there was no reason why she should be so ridiculously turned on by that, for crying out loud. “Nope. Plop a slab of prime rib in front of me and I’m a happy woman.”

“Now you’re talking my language.” He dried his hands with a dish towel before journeying to the fridge. “How about I grill a couple T-bones? And there’s just enough fixings for salad.”

“I can take care of that part, if you want.”

“You’re a guest. My mom would kick my ass if I put you to work.”

She snorted. “You also saved my life today. Pretty sure that trumps social manners.” Before he could balk, she snatched the head of romaine lettuce from his grip and carried it to the sink for rinsing. While he went out onto the deck to light the grill, she rummaged in the crisper drawer and found a cucumber and a container of grape tomatoes. By the time he came back inside she’d managed to toss all the ingredients in a large ceramic bowl she’d discovered in one of the well-stocked cupboards.

“Looks like you found everything easily enough.” Reaching above her head, he snagged a plate. He stood so close, his sweatpants brushed along her thigh in a soft glide. She gulped as a thousand goose bumps cropped across her skin.

Slapping the cupboard door shut, he stepped away.

The breath she’d been holding trickled free, and she turned slightly while he unwrapped a pair of steaks from their butcher paper. Her mind returned to the photo in his office of him receiving some type of award. Curiosity once again gnawed at her. “You mentioned your mom is a professional chef. How about you?”

He shook his head. “Law enforcement.”

“You’re a cop?” No wonder he’d been quick to rescue her. Taking on the role of hero would be natural to him. An intrinsic instinct.

“Sheriff.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Not in the human realm, mind you. My jurisdiction isn’t land based.”

His pronouncement baffled her, until she recalled where he’d found her today. “The ocean? I didn’t know there was any law enforcement in place there.”

Max’s smile was lopsided and dangerously endearing. “We’re pretty low profile.”

“What exactly does your job entail? Or can you say?” She wrinkled her nose. “If it’s one of those I’d tell ya but then I’d have to kill you deals, I’ll stick with staying in the dark.”

He chuckled. The husky sound slid over her like smooth velvet, bringing a gush of wetness between her thighs and making her nipples pebble. Oh jeez. She’d never been more grateful for a baggy shirt.

“No, nothing like that. Basically, I do the same thing a human sheriff does, only in water.” He made a vague gesture with his arm. “Keep the peace. Protect the innocent. Put the hurt on bad guys. Whatever’s required of me.”

She cocked her head. “Like rescue damsels in distress from leviathans?”

“Yeah.” He rubbed a deliciously fragrant seasoning onto the steaks and moved to the sink. Using his elbow to raise the faucet’s handle, he squirted soap into his palm. “Not sure I’ve ever come up against a bigger brute than that sonofabitch, though. Not too proud to say I hope I never do again.”

Having firsthand knowledge of the ugly beasts, she knew precisely what Max had been forced to contend with. The idea that he’d been able to defeat the creature boggled her brain. Granted, he was a huge guy, and generously ripped with a plethora of yummy muscles, but it was hard to believe a small army could take on a leviathan, much less one man.

Then again, Max wasn’t exactly a man. Reminded of that important fact, she looked him over. “I was meaning to ask you something earlier.”

“Hmm?” His expression partly distracted, he shut off the faucet.

“What kind of shifter are you?”

For some strange reason, he grimaced. “Damn, I was hoping you wouldn’t ask.”

“Why?”

“My species has a bad rap.” He coughed before scraping his palm along his jaw. “Some tend to hold that against me.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Don’t be so sure.” A resigned exhale leaked from him. “I don’t want you to freak or get the wrong impression.”

She frowned. “Uh, you’re kinda freakin’ me out right now.” What was he going to tell her? That he was a seahorse? She automatically visualized one of the teensy creatures and superimposed Max’s head on top. Her giggle threatened to pop free.

“I’m a shark, Willa.”

Her smile froze in place.

“Shit. This is why I didn’t want to mention it.”

Digesting the information, she stared at Max, trying to correlate the image of Jaws with the hunk standing in front of her.

“You’re picturing Jaws right now, aren’t you?” His mouth adopted a sardonic twist when she blinked. “No, I can’t read minds, if that’s what you’re wondering. But I’m well acquainted with your expression. I’ve seen it a time or two on the faces of the men in my own department.” Another hint of that resigned weariness shaded Max’s features. “To put your mind at ease, I’m not nearly as big as that ugly bastard. And I don’t munch on swimmers.”

“Th-that’s good to know.” A thought suddenly occurred to her. “Is Boone a shark too? I mean, are there a lot of you out there? Because I can honestly say, you’re the first I’ve ever met.”

“Nope, Boone’s a seal shifter. To answer your other question, my species is fairly rare. To my knowledge, I’m the only one in all of Georgia.”

“Wow. Doesn’t that make you feel…lonely?”

Rather than answer, he gazed at her for a long moment, the shadow of a dark emotion she knew all too well lurking in his eyes. Returning his attention to the plate of food, he cleared his throat. “Guess I better get these on the grill.”

She watched him walk out the French doors, her heart giving an odd tug. She knew what it meant to be lonely. To ache for someone to come home to every day.

Tamping down her glumness, she searched for napkins and silverware, making herself busy setting the pine farm table for the two of them. Once that task was taken care of, she fidgeted for a few minutes, at a loss for what to do next. Finally she admitted defeat and unlatched the door, joining Max on the deck. In the distance, the moonlit Atlantic rolled in shimmering waves toward the shore. Unable to help it, she shuddered and crossed her arms over her chest. Max eyed her, his gorgeous profile lit with a red glow from the grill’s flickering flames. “If it’s too cold for you out here, feel free to grab the blanket.”

He’d misunderstood the source of her shivers, but playing along with his theory was easier and less painful than revealing the truth. “It’s got to be at least seventy-five degrees. In what world is that considered cold?”

His mouth slid into a half smile. “Sorry. I keep forgetting you’re adapted to walking around in human skin.” He stabbed one of the steaks with a long-handled fork and turned the sizzling meat. “Some of us shifters are occasionally sensitive to temperature.”

It took a moment to catch his meaning. Damn it, he still thought she was something besides human. She planted her hands on her hips, intending to set him straight, but before she could even open her mouth, he lobbed another question at her.

“What made you decide to become a witch?”

She dropped her arms, the unexpected inquiry putting her at a disadvantage. Mulling the question, she plucked at the hem of the oversized shirt. Truthfully, she couldn’t remember a time when the energetic magic coursing through her hadn’t existed. Before she’d joined the witches’ alliance, she’d never known there were others like her out there. Finding out she wasn’t an odd freak of nature had been immensely comforting. “I don’t know. I’ve always just been drawn to it, kind of like a calling, I suppose. Why?”

“Just curious. You said you’ve never met a shark shifter, well, I’ve never met a witch.”

She laughed at the comparison. “Something tells me being a shark is a lot more exciting than being a witch. At least when it comes to me. Pretty much all I do is file papers and take dictation. No kicking bad guy ass for moi.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You did a damn good job swinging your fist at me earlier. Don’t think you’d have any problem holding your own if you had to.”

She groaned. “Please tell me I apologized for that.”

“Yeah, you did. And I’m only teasin’.” He tossed their steaks onto the plate and shut off the grill’s gas. “Feast time.”

Right on cue, her stomach rumbled in approval. They returned to the kitchen and spent the next twenty minutes eating the scrumptious dinner. Hungry as she was, she probably would have been happy scarfing down shoe leather, but no way would it have come close to providing the same fiesta for her taste buds as Max’s cooking. It was a tad embarrassing, the amount of relish she savored her food with, but fortunately Max didn’t appear to mind. If anything, he seemed fascinated. Even as she sank her teeth into the last bite of steak with a lusty groan, his focus remained glued to her mouth. Swallowing, he dropped his napkin into his lap.

She finished chewing before giving him a sheepish glance. “I swear I’m not usually like this. I mean, I’m not going to lie, I love food. But this?” She waved her fork, indicating her empty plate. “Better than an orgasm any day.” The second the words escaped, she wished she could reel them back in. Good grief, would her inner slut never shut up?

Max stilled. His attention drifted to her lips again, his dilated pupils making his eyes look dark and exceedingly sexy. “Then I’d say you haven’t been sharing a bed with the right man. One who’s gonna make damn sure he rocks your Kasbah more than that T-bone.”

The air crackled between them, loaded with sexual tension so thick it could be cut with one of their steak knives. She wasn’t certain how long they stared at each other before Max broke eye contact. He dropped his silverware onto his plate and cleared his throat. “Well, these dishes aren’t going to wash themselves.”

He stood and she gaped at him mutely. How the hell could he casually go from rocking Kasbahs to dirty plates? A possibility occurred to her. One that left her feeling even more like a pathetic moron. Maybe she was the only one who’d truly been affected by their conversation. Max was only being a nice, generous host, and here she was, misreading things and thinking he was sexually attracted to her.

She’d never been the type of woman to instill lustful cravings in a man. And yummy, too-gorgeous-for-words Max? He was so far out of her league it was ridiculous.

Sighing, she started to gather the plates.

“I’ll take care of everything. Why don’t you go rest for a while? Boone will take a chunk out of my hide if you have a relapse or something.”

“But I want to—” She broke off, a yawn sneaking out. Max’s eyebrows lifted, and she exhaled in weary defeat. “Fine, I’ll rest. But I’m not going to like it.”

His mouth twitched. “You can take the bed.”

“Where are you going to sleep?”

“On the floor.”

“Don’t be silly. I’m not going to—”

“Willa.” An unmistakable warning underscored his tone. “Don’t make me toss you over my shoulder and throw you on that bed.”

She shivered. It probably wasn’t normal to be turned on by his threat. Definitely pathetic. Deliberately adopting a mulish slant to her chin, she stalked down the hallway. Setting her glasses on the nightstand, she crawled on the bed, intending to do nothing more than shut her eyes for a bit. Even before her head fully hit the pillow, a snore floated past her lips.



Max stared dumbly at the growing mountain of suds in the sink. He gripped the edge of the basin, willing away the persistent throbbing in his cock. Jesus. He should be awarded with a damn sainthood for not climbing on the bed with Willa and licking every inch of her like she was his dessert.

The image fostered by that provocative thought tormented his already stiff-as-a-board erection. He slumped his shoulders and groaned, pouring every ounce of his bottled frustration into the gesture. The damnable part of it all was he suspected Willa wanted him just as bad. But he also knew she was in a vulnerable position. She’d nearly lost her life today, and that was bound to mess with a person’s head. If anything happened between them, he wanted to be absolutely certain it was for the right reason, and not because she looked at him as her savior and therefore deserved a thank-you f*ck.

No matter how sizzling hot that f*ck would be.

There was no question in his mind that a night spent indulging his wildest fantasies with Willa would be off the charts. He loved the hell out of sex. Loved all of the tactile sensations. Skin gliding on skin. The contrast between the softness of a woman’s breasts and the firmer, pebbled tips of her nipples. He loved the texture of both beneath his fingers, against his tongue. But most of all, he adored savoring the wet silkiness of a woman’s p-ssy as he went down on her. He could easily spend hours doing that for Willa, if she let him.

“Shit.” He gritted the word through his teeth. These kinds of thoughts were doing nothing to cool him down, damn it. Plunging his hands into the soapy water, he ruthlessly scrubbed the plates and utensils until they gleamed before setting them on the rack to drip dry. That chore completed, he walked down the hall toward his office. The bedroom was dark and the faint sound of light snores carried to his ears, making him grin. For someone who’d carried on like a cranky five-year-old refusing to go to sleep, she sure as hell fell into snooze land fast.

He sat at his desk and powered on his computer. He’d put off logging in some reports earlier in the week. Might as well get the damn things done with. But halfway through pulling up the file folder, his mind became distracted by thoughts of Willa. Not exactly any surprise there. Only this time, he couldn’t shake the question of why the leviathan had snatched her. Granted, maybe the beast had just been in it for sport, or an easy kill.

But that was the thing. He’d run into the leviathan miles away from the creatures’ preferred territory. Something had lured the beast close to shore.

Willa?

The possibility stirred an uneasy brew in his gut. Why would the leviathan have wanted her?

His finger stopped hovering over the mouse, and he clicked off his current program and opened the file labeled “unknown attacks” instead. These were the unsolved cases, where the perpetrator of the crime was yet to be determined or brought to trial. He spent a good forty-five minutes scanning the entries, looking for evidence that might hint at a leviathan being responsible for the acts. A few cold cases presented possible leads, but each of those were at least two decades old.

Sinking back in his chair, he rubbed his brow. Boone was right about one thing. He despised unfilled blanks. More and more, it looked like he’d never know why the leviathan had chosen Willa for its victim. Not unless he tracked the son of a bitch down and threatened to beat it within an inch of its life.

Sounded like an excellent plan.

One that’d have to wait for another day. Gusting a heavy breath, he powered off the computer and stood, stretching. A series of pops cracked in his tensed joints. Grimacing, he abandoned the office and strode into the bedroom. A beam of milky moonlight pooled along the bed, illuminating the gentle curve of Willa’s shoulder and the slope of her breasts. The shirt had bunched tight beneath her, showcasing her hard little nipples. White-hot desire kicked him square in the groin.

Jesus. What was it about her that made him revert to a fifteen-year-old with a constant boner? There was no question she was cute and sexy as hell, but he wasn’t one to suffer irrational lust like this.

Corking his frustrated groan, he strode to the bathroom and shut the door. At first he had no intention beyond brushing his teeth, but the residual salty grit clinging to him convinced him that a good scrub down was also in order. Much as he loved the ocean, his human skin tended to get itchy real fast. He shoved the vinyl curtain aside and dialed on the shower before stripping off his sweats and jumping beneath the spray. Water pummeled his exhausted muscles, ripping a moan of pleasure from his chest.

Hot steam enveloped him in a caressing cloud. Even on a normal day, when he didn’t have a luscious woman lying in his bed, he tended to get aroused by extreme heat—a condition inherent to his species. Knowing Willa rested on the other side of the door, her silky skin warming his sheets, only intensified his ardor.

Before he could halt it, the image of her nipples sprang into his mind. His cock swelled and he fisted the base of his shaft, a mental picture of sliding its length between her breasts slamming into him. Planting his other fist on the wet tile, he pumped his cock, his hips rocking into the motion. In his fantasy, Willa’s tongue flicked teasingly at the crown, stringing out his torture, before letting him slide free.

He closed his eyes, the vivid scene in his head better than any XXX porno in existence. A niggle of guilt told him he’d regret this later, since he’d never be able to look her in the face in the morning without recalling the dirty things he’d had her do in his mind.

It’d be a punishment he’d have to take, because nothing could preempt the release knocking on his door. Firming his grip, he jacked himself with increasingly faster strokes, until his balls drew up almost painfully tight. A warning wave hit him and he jerked, his cock pulsing. Pounding water muffled his broken groan. By the time the last thick spurt of his come washed down the drain, he felt more wrung out than a shop rag. Staggering backwards, he slumped against the shower wall.

Holy hell. If just jacking off to the fantasy of Willa sent his brain in to orbit, what would—?

He nixed the thought before it could form any further. The last thing he needed was to get turned on again. Doubtful he’d be able to survive another solo session like that last one, he cranked the water off and stepped from the shower stall. Once toweled dry, he tugged on his sweats and killed the light so as not to disturb Willa. A heated, citrus-scented billow of steam followed him into the bedroom. He glanced toward the bed, a part of him relieved to note that she’d rolled onto her side, allowing him nothing more than a glimpse of her calves.

Damn. Even those were sexy. Shaking his head at his utter patheticness, he walked to the closet and grabbed a spare pillow and blanket from the upper shelf. He tossed his makeshift bed onto the carpet and stretched out. Stacking his arms beneath his head, he stared at the ceiling. If anyone would’ve suggested he’d end his evening on the floor while a woman who fired every single one of his cylinders slept less than five feet away, he would have called them crazy. But as his cock stirred with renewed life, it became too obvious he was the one suffering a major shortage of sanity—for not spooning up to Willa’s sweet curves and connecting the freckles dotted across her collarbone with his tongue.

Clenching his jaw, he yanked the pillow over his head, blocking out the ceiling. And the temptation of Willa.