Page 9 of Hexed Up

I shake my head. “Never got my licence.”

“Right.” He swallows. “And the explosion?”

“I was brewing a potion.”

“Of course, you were,” he says, rubbing at his forehead with more aggression like he might be able to knock some sense back into his own brain.

“That’s what I do. I’m a freelance potion-brewer. I sell my creations on the web. You can mail-order them.”

“Jeez!” he exclaims. “And the other woman? The one with the clipboard?”

“She’s my sister, Prim.”

“I didn’t know you had a sister.” Which is a weird thing for him to say, because whywouldhe know that?

“I actually have two. Prim’s a Magical Enforcement Officer – she works crazy hours. I don’t see much of her. And Tiggie is … well, Tiggie is just Tiggie.”

“An enforcement officer?” he asks – because of course Mr Long-list-of-complaints would zero in on that.

I consider lying, but as I’m so appalling at it, I resort to the truth.

“You’re not technically allowed to brew potions for commercial use from your home – not unless you have a–”

“Licence?” he volunteers.

“Correct. The authorities monitor for unusual explosions. She came to investigate.”

“Are you in trouble?” he says, leaning forward and not seeming happy about that prospect.

“No, luckily Damien–”

“The demon friend?”

I nod. “–cleared all the evidence away.”

I hope he accepts that explanation for why my sister didn’t hang around. I do not want to explain the real reason my sister scuttled away in such a hurry. After the bedroommisunderstanding and the lack of clothing, I want to avoid the topic of sex and orgasms if at all possible.

“What were you brewing?” he asks next.

Merlin’s toenails!

“A love potion,” I whisper, wishing McGruff, who’s curled up by my feet, would take this opportunity to start some inappropriate leg-humping and distract the man from this line of questioning.

“A what?” he says, brow descending over those blue eyes. He leans forward.

“Alovepotion,” I murmur.

This time, he hears me. Or at least I assume he does, because he blinks ten times in quick succession and I realise he has the type of long, thick lashes that people spend lots of money faking. Honestly, this man completely maxed out in the good-looks department.

“What exactly does a love potion do?” he asks with suspicion.

“Well,” I say, reaching down to tickle McGruff’s ears and avoiding Mr Hottie’s intense gaze, “it makes the person who ingests the potion fall in love with the first person they set eyes on.”

“Your friend, the …” he grimaces, “demon, said the potion had worked.”

“Erm, it may have, yes.”

“Are you telling me,” he pauses, “you’ve fallen in love with me?”