Excerpt from I Put a Spell on You

Reluctantly Gray released the warmth of Temperance's body and circled around to face her. “Can we start over?”

She stared at him through narrowed green eyes, suspicion etched clearly on her face. He didn't blame her. Despite the fact, he wanted to expand his business to include building restoration, he could hardly believe he'd agreed to help renovate what would end up being a misguided hippie shop. He'd even pushed back the start date of his latest contract so he could help her. Normally, he only took on high profile builds and now he'd agreed to work at Mystic Circle , for Christ's sake. What the hell had he been thinking?

He hadn't been thinking about much besides Temperance and the gentle sway her of her generous hips. The glorious curves he remembered were still there – if possible, her breasts were fuller – more luscious. She had the kind of body made to cradle a man while he fucked her and God, he wanted to be that man. He desperately wanted to be that man.

His teenage fantasies were back in full force. Right now, he imagined laying her across her desk and burying his face in her pussy until she came screaming his name, begging him to fuck her. Okay, so his fantasies had evolved a bit since high school. But damn, so had she.

“Why?”

Why what? What had they been talking about? The renovations, right.

“Believe it or not, I actually want to help you.” As he said it, he realized it was true.

She stared at him tapping her foot. Her purple, gauzy skirt swished enticingly around her calves, practically begging him to drag the fabric up her legs and bare her. She jingled softly as her foot tapped, and he noticed a chain of small, silver bells circling her ankle. The sweetly spiced exotic scent she wore drifted to him as she moved. He shoved his hands in his pockets. If he didn't keeping his hands off her might be impossible.

“Look, this is a win-win situation for both of us. I want to branch into restoration and you need your property renovated.”

Putting her hands on her hips, she stared at his clearly weighing his argument.

He cleared his throat. “I promise, I'll try to pry my narrow mind open a little further.”

She stopped moving and stared at him as if she didn't exactly trust him. He couldn't really blame her. He'd been an asshole. He wouldn't have treated any other client like he'd treated Temper.

She bit her full lower lip as she considered him. “I can't believe I'm saying this but okay.”

The knot in his chest loosened as an impish smile quirked her lips.

“Let's make a deal,” she said. “I won't tell you how to use your tools if you don't tell me how to use mine.”

He was sure she hadn't intended the word ‘tools' to sound erotic, but it did. It wasn't a much of a jump to go from tools to the conversation he'd overheard a few minutes ago. Images of Temperance pleasuring herself with a vibrator filled his head. He could imagine her long red curls hair spread over his pillow and her creamy white legs spread open while a thick vibrator slid in and out of her writhing body. Damn he was glad his hands were still shoved in his pockets.

“Deal,” he choked out.

“Good.”

Her voice raked his nerve endings. He'd almost forgotten how the sound of her morning husky tone made his cock ache with need. What was his problem? She wasn't even remotely his type. His type wore heels and hose, not sandals and bare feet. His type ran offices not crunchy granola hippie stores. His type certainly didn't wear exotic smelling oils that had him wanting to strip the clothing from their bodies and fuck them nine ways from Sunday. And yet, he had the sinking feeling his type was right here right now, staring at him with smoky green eyes and softly parted lips. How was this even possible? Temperance didn't fit in his orderly world.

She darted around him suddenly. “I'll show you the supplies the contractor got before he took off.”

He followed her out of the office. His gaze traced the narrowing of her waist up to her impressive rack only to realize she'd stopped and turned to face him. His eyes rose to hers, and he couldn't help but wonder if her nipples were the same raspberry-ripe color as her lips. She cleared her throat, and he realized his gaze had dropped to her cleavage again. God, what was his problem? He never had trouble remaining professional with women in the workplace, but with Temperance, he was a sexual harassment suit waiting to happen.

“What?” she asked, warily.

“Nothing. I just haven't seen you in a while. I just realized your hair's back to its original color,” he finished lamely. And he much preferred its natural red color. When they'd been in high school, she'd adopted the Goth look, dyed her hair inky black and cut it so the short stands hung in her face. It hadn't stopped him from fantasizing about her, but the way the long silky waves now kissed the upper swell of her ass inspired a whole new set of daydreams.