Page 52 of Enchanted to Meet You

Can’t talk right now. I’ll call you later.

LegalBeagle:Jess, I don’t like this. What do you know about this guy? Who is he even working for?

Scungilli:Yeah, at least before he showed up, Rosalie wasn’t actively trying to kill you.

“Is this usable, or is that woodpile outside just for show?” Derrick was kneeling down in front of my fireplace and looking up the flue.

I crossed into the living room holding both the glasses of wine I’d poured. “Yes, of course the fireplace works. Why? Don’t tell me you think a demon is going to come flying down the chimney.”

“No,” he said, and began to push up his sleeves—enough to reveal that he had a tattoo on the inside of his right forearm, but not enough so that I could see what it was. “It’s cold outside. I thought I might build a fire.”

Drinks in front of a crackling fire with Derrick Winters? This was better than anything that had ever happened in mybedroom—better than anything I’d everfantasizedabout happening there.

Even if my friends might not be particularly thrilled with the idea.

“Be my guest,” I said, trying my best to sound casual as I handed him one of the wineglasses. “Red okay?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Well, then.” I raised my glass, still trying to control my facial muscles. Be cool. Donotsmile too much. “To the Bringer of Light.”

He clinked his glass to mine. “May her Spanish homework go well.”

Dammit. I not only smiled, Ilaughed. “Cheers.”

Derrick

Witches value consensual sex as pleasure, one of the sources of energies used in the practice of magic, and the embodiment of life.

Rule Number Five of the Nine Rules

*World Council of Witches*

For a second, Derrick’s gaze met hers above the rim of their wineglasses. He was struck, once again, by her eyes—twin wells into which he felt he could fall and lose himself forever.

He’d be happy to spend the rest of his days swimming in those warm dark pools, and living in this warm, cluttered house. He had never been in a place that felt more colorful, more comfortable, morehome. He wasn’t sure if it was the house itself or Jessica, in her body-skimming, shimmering silk robe, with her laughing mouth and damp black curls hanging down her shoulders, that made him feel so relaxed. He wasn’t sure about anything anymore.

What was he even doing here? He’d been told to protect her, not move in with her, and certainly not sleep with her. Was he going to be able to stop himself?

Not if she kept looking at him that way.

When the first side of the record she’d put on came to a sudden end, he became disturbingly aware of how quiet it was. Her neighbors, he knew from his earlier research, were mostly retirees who went to bed early—but rose early, as well. He imagined they’d have pointed questions for her tomorrow morning about the whereabouts of her car—and the owner of the severely dented Fiat parked in her driveway.

Bzzz.The room was so silent, Derrick heard the phone in the pocket of her robe alert her to a text, even though she’d set it on vibrate.

“Do you want to check that?” he asked politely.

She smiled widely and took another sip of her wine. “It’s probably not important.”

“What if it’s Esther?”

The smile disappeared. “Right. Of course.” She fished the phone from her pocket.

Derrick, to be courteous, turned toward the fireplace, even though he knew who it was. He hadn’t meant to look at her phone, but she’d left it out on the counter earlier, and he hadn’t been able to keep from glancing at the screen when it lit up with a text from someone called Scungilli referring to a “filthy warlock,” and urging her to use protection.

Washethe filthy warlock? “Eavesdroppers get what they deserve,” his father always said, and in general Derrick agreed. But did Scungilli mean filthy in a good way or a bad way?

It was natural, of course, that her friends would be suspicious of him. He was suspicious ofhimself. How was he going to do his job when all he could think about was what was behind the one door in the house she hadn’t opened for him... Jessica Gold’s bed?