Easy Magic (Boudreaux #5)

So this is what all the fuss is about!

He licks down to my lips, and then he groans as he kisses me intimately, making me come apart at the seams, thrashing about like a wild woman, unable to control myself.

I’m still quivering when he kisses his way up my stomach, between my breasts and up my neck. Finally, he kisses me on the mouth and I can taste myself there, which only turns me on more.

“You’re amazing,” he whispers against my mouth.

“Let me return the favor.”

“Oh no,” he says, shaking his head slowly side to side. “Tonight is all about you.”

“Okay, I want you to let me return the favor.”

He chuckles. “Sorry, sugar, but that’s one wish I can’t grant. I’m taking care of you. We have plenty of time ahead of us for you to do me any favors you like. But not tonight.”

Where did this guy come from? He’s true to his word. Now that I’ve had the most amazing orgasm of my life, he lathers me up with my favorite lotion, helps me into my usual sleep attire of a clean tank top and panties, then undresses himself and slips into bed with me.

He pulls me against him and kisses my head. “Are you tired?”

“I shouldn’t be,” I reply. “I slept for about twenty-four hours. But yeah, you wore me out.”

“Better me than anything else,” he says with a smile and reaches over to turn off the side light. “Sleep, Mallory. I’m right here.”

“Okay.” I take a deep breath, reveling in his arms wrapped securely around me, and I know that I won’t dream at all tonight.

And I have Beau to thank for that.

***

We’ve spent the better part of the past week together. Whenever we weren’t at work, we’ve been at either my place or his, always spending the night at mine. I should offer him some closet and drawer space at my house, but I don’t want to jinx it.

I’m falling in love with this man. I’m nowhere close to being ready to tell him that, but I feel it. He knows all about me, and he accepts it all. Not to mention, he’s amazing in bed, and he makes me laugh like crazy.

It’s Monday, my first full day off since my snooze fest last week. Beau has decided to start taking Mondays off as well, and I have a feeling his family and colleagues are all completely flummoxed by this new development.

Beau is a self-proclaimed workaholic. But maybe it’s doing him good to keep a more normal schedule, and to spend time with me.

I hope that’s the case because I love all of the time he gives me. I don’t take one minute of it for granted.

“Wow, they’ve come a long way.” We pull up to Beau’s new house, and I’m stunned to see that the outside has all been painted, making it look like he could move in at any moment.

“Yes, there has been a lot of progress this week. It’s funny because it goes in spurts.” We both exit the car, and instead of leading me into the house, he takes my hand and guides me around to the back of the house. “Some weeks it feels like nothing changes, and then others, BOOM! Everything changes and it feels like it’s almost done.”

“It looks fantastic. I like the soft butter yellow color you chose for the outside.”

“Thanks.” He flashes me his sexy grin. “Now, I need your input on something back here.”

“Okay. What’s up?”

“Where should I plant the rose garden and the herb and vegetable garden?”

I stare at him like he’s just asked me to explain the Pythagorean theorem.

“Excuse me?”

He takes my hand and leads me farther into the backyard.

“I have landscapers coming tomorrow, and I need to finalize where I want my gardens to go. What do you think?”

“I’m not sure why you’re asking me. I kill everything, Beau.”

He stops and stares back at me. “Everything?”

“Well, if it has roots, it probably isn’t going to survive if I’m around. I forget to water and feed everything, including myself sometimes.”

“But you sell herbs in your botanical shop.”

“Yes, and I buy them from someone else who has grown them.” I shake my head and laugh, wandering around the yard, that at this moment is just brown dirt and weeds. “Besides, aren’t you going to hire a gardener?”

“No. I’ll hire groundskeepers to come mow and keep the grass looking good, but I plan to tend to the gardens myself.”

“I thought billionaires hired people to do this stuff.”

He smirks. “And I thought botanical shop owners grew their own botanicals.”

“Touché.” I laugh again, and then trip in a hole, falling on my ass. “That’s gonna leave a mark.”

“Are you okay?”

“Oh yeah, I just—”

Before I can say more, he falls on top of me, pinning me to the ground, and kisses me in that way he does that makes my knees weak and my heart beat faster.

It’s a good thing I’m already on the ground.

“You never stop surprising me, Mallory.”

“That’s the plan,” I reply with a wink. “I have to keep you on your toes.”

“It’s working,” he replies and helps me stand. “Okay, so I’m going to be the green thumb in this relationship. I can live with that. But at least show me where you think we should put the gardens.”

I look around, not having the slightest clue what should go where.

“Why do you want my opinion?”

“Because if I get my way, and I usually do, you’ll be spending some time here with me. And I value your opinion.”

And there he goes, being all sweet and wonderful again.

How is this man single?

Women are clearly dumb.

“Okay, I think the herbs and veggies should be closer to the house because you might want to run out to clip some oregano, or grab a cucumber for the salad and whatnot.”

“Smart,” he says, nodding. “I like it. Okay, vegetable garden should be over here.” He’s gesturing with his hands, his whiskey eyes lit up with excitement.

He loves this home.

And that makes me happy for him.

“Now, roses need to be in the sunshine,” he says and wanders away from me toward the middle of the yard. “This is really the most well-lit part of the property. I’m thinking six feet by eight feet.”

“How many bushes are you planting?” I ask, getting into the spirit of things.

“Six. That’s always been a good number for my family.”

“That will give them plenty of room to establish their roots and grow.”

He smiles at me like he just couldn’t be more proud. “And you claim to not be a flower person.”

“I like flowers,” I clarify. “I just can’t be trusted to grow them.”

“We’ll see about that,” he says. “If you wouldn’t hate it, you can help me, and I can teach you. It’s really easier than you think.”

“I wouldn’t hate it.”

He picks up a shovel and begins to dig, just a little bit, as if he’s outlining the area for the roses. During the third time of shoving the shovel into the dirt, he unearths a bone. His gaze whips to mine.