“You’re both.” I pressed a firm, closed-mouth kiss to her lips. And though she returned it easily, that teasing look in her eye told me she didn’t know how serious I was about this. About her. “My girlfriend happens to be an excellent judge of art. Like me. She should know that I know what the fuck I’m talking about.”

“You’re also a little biased.”

“Maybe.” A shrug of one shoulder. “The truth is, Evie, it doesn’t matter what I think. Or what anyone thinks.” I spread my fingers through her silky hair, loving the texture against my palms, cradling her skull and forcing her to look up at me. “No one can tell you your artwork is worthless but you. And no one can tell you it has value but you. Will you get ridiculous trolls who write heinous, soul-crushing reviews? Yes. You will. But you’ll also get readers who love your work and appreciate your efforts. Above all that, you’ll be achieving your dreams and sharing it with the world. And that’s what matters.”

She leaped up onto me, coiling her arms around my neck, pressing her head into the crook of my shoulder. “Why didn’t I meet you sooner?”

Holding her tight and rocking side to side, I squeezed her to me, loving the soft, lushness of her body against mine. “We met when we were supposed to.”

“I wish we could figure out what witch cursed you so I can thank her.”

I chuckled, then pressed a long, languorous kiss to the side of her neck. “I wish I knew, too.”

The mention of this Derek asshole being a witch reminded me of something. “I’m guessing that Derek attends these coven summits, doesn’t he?”

She hung limply against me and grumbled, “Yes. That’s why I don’t want to go to that damn cocktail party.”

“Then don’t go.”

“I have to. It’s kind of complicated, but basically witches can be gossipy bitches and highly suspicious. So if I don’t show up, rumors could spread there’s trouble in our household. And Jules could be in danger of losing her position. It’s not likely, but Jules doesn’t deserve anymore headaches than the ones she already has to deal with.”

“Just because you don’t go to a party?”

“It’s a very important party in the eyes of the Guild. And pretty much every witch, actually. I definitely don’t want to make things hard on Jules for any reason. She does everything to keep things running smooth. So I’ll go to the damn party and pretend his presence doesn’t bother me.”

I hated the idea of Evie feeling uncomfortable in any possible way, especially because of an ex who had demeaned her talent and her dream. I hated him more for knocking her self-esteem, her belief in herself, than I did for actually having the privilege of being an important part of her life. How could a man have Evie and throw it all away? One thing I knew for sure, if I was lucky enough to make her mine, I’d never let her go.

“Come on.” I set her away from me, stood, and took her hand, guiding her toward the door. “Let’s get you home.”

She stopped, her gaze flicking to my bedroom door. “I thought…”

Shaking my head, I pulled her body to me, rocking her gently with a brief kiss to her temple. “Not tonight.”

“Why not?” She gestured to the spread on the floor and coffee table. “You wooed me with Star Wars. I’m pretty ready to let you into my pants.”

FUCK YEAH! Finally. Let’s go.

“Not tonight, baby,” I repeated. Apparently, I didn’t need to explain—she simply stared at me a few seconds, then nodded and walked ahead of me down the stairs.

I didn’t want her to think I’d brought her here for our first date just to get her in my bed. Yes, I wanted her in my space, my domain, probably the territorial wolf in me, but I wanted even more than that. Besides, the night had ended on an emotional whirlwind, and I wasn’t an idiot. She’d be brooding for the rest of the night about her decision, her regret to let Derek have any say-so over her own personal choices. And there’s no way in hell I wanted her ex to have any room in her head the first time I took her to bed. When there was no space for anyone else but the two of us up there in that beautiful brain of hers, then I’d take her. Then I’d make her mine.

I swear, you want our dick to fall off, don’t you?

My dick is perfectly safe from falling off.

Not so sure.

When we walked through the gallery and onto the street, hand in hand, she said, “Thank you for my wonderful first date.”

“You’re welcome. My pleasure.” Then I couldn’t help myself. “Does it beat all your other first dates?”

“Definitely.”

“Even with Derek?”

When she pulled me to a stop, the couple walking behind us almost plowed into us. She cupped my face, brushing her fingers over the scruff I needed to shave. “It beats all the dates.”

“All the dates? Ever?”

“Every one.”

“So I guess I get five stars then. As opposed to only the 4 I got for the lunch at Gotham City Grill.”

She laughed. “Oh, you get five gazillion stars for this date.”

“Wow. I’m honored.” And I meant it.

Then we were kissing hard and making a spectacle of ourselves on the street, but we were both lost in each other. Unaware or not caring who saw us or what they thought. Our bodies perfectly aligned, her soft breasts pressed to my hard chest. I skimmed one hand down to cup and squeeze her curvy ass. She moaned.

“Get a room,” said a guy, laughing with his friend as they passed.

That jarred us apart. A little. Her lips kiss-swollen, her cheeks flushed, her eyes shimmering with desire, she was completely stunning.

“You know. You made a promise about next time.”

I didn’t have to think too hard to remember the promise she was referring to. My cock twitched and strained harder against the zipper of my jeans. Just the thought of licking her pretty pussy made my vision haze. I craved her with maddening need.

“Yeah,” I said, hearing the raw huskiness in my voice. “That’s a promise I plan to keep.”

“Next time.” She threaded her fingers through mine and tugged me back along the sidewalk.

Next time.

Chapter 28

~EVIE~

The fact that our first official date was so perfect must’ve pissed off the universe. Because right after, we were waylaid with a series of events that blocked us from having a second date or even getting any time alone.

First off, Jules’s new sous chef, Mitchell, didn’t close the freezer all the way on a Monday night, the butcher’s delivery day, and we lost the entire stock inside. Granted, it wasn’t Mitchell’s fault since he wasn’t aware you had to put the steel peg in the door every time you closed it or it had a knack for popping back open. It was one of those things Jules would hammer home a thousand times to any new employee. But ever since we had coffee with Ruben, she’d been an absentminded dingbat.

On top of that disaster, a tomcat had gone after Fred, and Z had come to the rescue. Clara and I were stupefied when we heard the racket one late afternoon and found Z tumbling in the courtyard with the orange tabby. Fred was fluttering around like crazy, his rainbow bow tie dangling loose around his neck. By the time we ran over, Z had scared the tomcat away. But Z had a few bleeding gashes on him and was limping on his back leg.

I rushed him to Beryl’s house. She was the best witch healer in the city. After mending his fractured leg with a suture spell and patching up his puncture wounds, she swiveled to me with a maternal and condescending scowl. “You need to let this cat live out the rest of his life naturally.”

“He is. Just with a little help.”

“Isadora can’t keep him alive forever.”

“No,” I agreed aloud but not in my head, “but maybe for another twenty years or so?”

A really heavy sigh. “It’s unnatural. Cats don’t want to live that long.”

I eyed Z whose sputtering motorboat purr rumbled under my palm. “How do you know?”

She arched a superior brow. I glanced around at her menagerie—three cats, a toy poodle named Fitzy, a cage of canaries, a ferret, and her pigmy goat named Matilda—then turned back to her with a sigh.

“Yeah.” She was the Dr. Doolittle of witches, so I guess she had a point. “Maybe you’re right.”

She put a gentle hand over mine where it rested on Z’s back in my lap. “It doesn’t have to be now, but maybe have Isadora ease up.”

I nodded. “Okay.” I swallowed hard at thinking of letting Z go, but Beryl was right. She was always right.

“So what about the werewolf?” Her cocoa-brown eyes watched me the way my mom’s used to. Studying with too much awareness and knowledge.

“What about him?”

“Are you lovers?”

“No,” I admitted, avoiding eye contact. “Not yet.” Then I glanced up at her. “Why? Do you think I’ll die if I do, according to the cards Spirit pulled for me?”

I was hoping she’d laugh at me or shake her head, but she shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Beryl…” I licked my lips, deciding to go for it. “I care about him. A lot.”

“I know. The death card, the transformation, most probably has to do with him.”

I scoffed. “That’s just it. A witch has him tied into a complex spell where he can’t shift. He can’t transform. More than three months now.”

Her sage expression puckered into a serious scowl. “That’s not good.”

“It isn’t. His wolf is…causing him problems.”

“No, that’s not the problem.” Matilda was chewing on the ends of the long scarf that wrapped around Beryl’s waist and dangled to the floor. She shooed her away and stood to walk to her window overlooking an English garden of herbs and medicinal flowers. “The witch who has cast the spell has blocked him for a reason, and it’s not so his wolf will drive him crazy.”