Midnight Magic, page 24
Wait, what the hell was she thinking?
She was a respectable and honorable mind healer who always abided by the Healer Code of Ethics. She wasn’t about to opt-out of this serious financial opportunity or risk her healer’s license for some male… no matter how she reacted to him.
Six months. Six months of mind healing sessions with this male.
She could absolutely keep it professional for that long. And surely her cowboy fantasy would fizzle out well before that time was up—convict cowboy fantasy because the male had served two years… for murder.
It was fine. This was fine. Everything was fine.
It was just six months. And surely, the council wouldn’t extend his sentence beyond that.
Yeah, he’d lost control of his animal, but that was an intensely emotional and extenuating circumstance.
To be so deeply betrayed like that by the one you thought you loved… Not to mention how she’d read in his file that he’d tried to do the right thing, tried to “walk it off,” to calm down and diffuse the situation—exactly as shifters were taught to do.
What had happened was truly unfortunate, on so many levels. And, if she were being honest, she could hardly blame his lion. It really had been the perfect storm.
And from what she’d also read in his file, it was clear he didn’t really need to be in mind-healing sessions. The previous mind-healer believed Clyde had his head on straight and was a good male with strong family ties and loyal to his pride.
Apparently, the Shifter Council agreed, too. Otherwise, she knew he would’ve been put to death instead of his two-year sentence plus five years of mandatory mind-healing sessions. Really, his sentence was like a slap on the wrist in the long scheme of their immortal lifespan... especially considering that he technically committed murder.
So, yeah. Recap: she had the hots for the Cowboy Convict… who was also her patient.
Wrong. Again, this was so wrong.
Okay, technically, he’d really only been her patient for all of five minutes… and he was already half-naked and had his hands on her waist.
Great start.
“C’mon. Let’s go inside.” Like the Southern gentlemale he was, he motioned toward the steps of the front porch in a “female's first” gesture.
Again with the manners, he pushed open the arched front door. The thing was huge and solid—just like its owner.
No, stop! Do not go there, Maddie, she told her inner sex kitten that had apparently just woken up after a century of napping.
“You like lemonade?” he asked casually, his stride long and deceptively lazy as he guided them through the front foyer, which was fairly standard—or at least what she thought of as standard as foyers went. She’d never lived in a place with a foyer in her life. Hell, her shoebox of an apartment was practically the size of this foyer that seemed to do its job perfectly. It had a door off to the right, another room across the way, a staircase, and wooden floors that matched the dark stain of the front door.
Wait, did he say lemonade? Of course he has lemonade on hand, she thought, wondering how much more country fantasy this was going to get.
“It’s a bit on the sweet side,” he warned playfully, flashing her another smile. Promptly, her ovaries did a backflip. “I like it sweet. But it’s fresh and won a blue ribbon in the fair a few years back.”
Award-winning lemonade? What had her life turned into? A plot for a Hallmark movie?
“Sounds great. Thanks.”
Sounds great? All those years of mind-healing school and that’s what you came up with? she silently chided herself. Wait. She started to hear tires screeching in her head. What if his beautiful Southern belle of a mate made the lemonade?
But no, she didn’t see anything about a mate in his file. Then again, maybe she wasn’t recalling things straight, being that her brain was a bit scrambled and still trying to recalibrate from the hunk she’d been unexpectedly hit with.
“Anywhere, you’d like, Miss Maddie,” he said, after leading her through the door on the right and to a sizable sitting room.
She already knew his home was huge—having seen the ranch-style structure on the outside—and that it was on an enormous piece of property with lots of land. But she was surprised at how it still very much held a homey quality—warm and inviting and maybe even cozy too.
How he’d managed that, she didn’t know.
She sat on one of the couches while he left to get the lemonade.
Damn, it was comfy as hell. What was this couch made of? Clouds?
“Here you are, Miss Maddie.”
The glass of lemonade he was holding out to her had ice cubes in it and they were making a slight tinkling sound as they touched the sides of the glass.
“Thanks.” Accepting it, she took a sip.
Wow. It was good. Damn good. The best freaking lemonade she’d ever had in her entire life. Not like she drank the stuff a lot, but if this was around, she surely would.
“This is really good. Did you make it?”
His chest rumbled, the deep sound almost purr-like. “No. I wouldn’t’ve offered if I made it. Might’ve scared you off.” He smiled, but those predatory eyes were back to intently watching her. “Ma Langsley made it. Dropped it by earlier this mornin’ because she knew I had a session today and didn’t want me to be rude and not offer my guest a beverage.”
“Your mom?”
He nodded.
She really shouldn’t be so happy about the Southern belle not being in the picture. “Well, it’s very good. Delicious, really. And I can see why it’s prize-winning.”
This time, his smile was tender, affectionate. “I’ll let her know. She’ll be pleased. That also means you’ve sealed your fate for the next six months.”
She was trying to decipher what exactly he meant by that—because surely he hadn’t meant it in the way her body had desired to be sealed with him, right? Didn’t matter because that wasn’t allowed.
When she didn’t say anything, he clarified, “You know, looks like you’ll be drinkin’ lemonade for the next six months solid.”
She laughed. Again, it was that damn convulsing bird sound. What the hell was that all about… really?
“Well, Miss Maddie.” His mouth hooked up in that smirk of his. And why did he keep saying her name like that—like a seductive purr. It was as if he knew the effect it had on her and he was playing with her. It would be a very feline thing to do. “How was the drive other than the slight detours?”
In what looked like a habitual motion he’d been doing his whole life, his hand tunneled through his sandy blonde mane.
Damn, the male had nice hair—thick, shiny, and the perfect length to show off his locks but still be relatively low maintenance. Some paid a lot of money for those natural blonde highlights. It almost wasn’t fair.
“Good,” she managed to answer, despite being distracted by Mr. L'Oréal. “The station wasn’t too busy, and the drive was easy—minus the mini detour.” There was that smile again… That not sexy smile. “I almost forgot how nice it is to drive on roads that aren’t constantly clogged with everyone permanently in a rush.”
He chuckled, the deep sound still not doing things to her. “Don’t get outta the city much?”
“Not really.” She shook her head, tucking an unruly loose brown curl back behind her ear and wondering what shampoo he used… and if he used conditioner. “But maybe I should because it’s beautiful out here.”
Looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows, she took in the land that reminded her of a savanna—open and dominated by grass and widely spaced trees. There was a calming and peaceful air about the landscape too. And with the way the sun shone on practically every inch of the property, she found herself wondering if the earth would be warm under her feet. And if perhaps there would be birdsong in the air—not convulsing birds.
“I’d be happy to show you around.”
Feeling his eyes on her, she shifted her focus back on him almost instinctively. Yeah, he was definitely a lion. The way those intense golden brown eyes looked at her gave that away loud and clear. Feline. Intense. Focused… with a mix of curiosity and calculation. Plus a good dose of knowing they were the predator. And in this case, an apex predator.
She swallowed some more lemonade, trying her damndest to ignore the fact that he wasn’t wearing a fricken shirt—and that seriously amazing six-pack—and how he was dancing on the borderline of being closer than socially acceptable.
Considering that she basically chugged half the glass in one go, some of it got on her upper lip.
He noticed. Of course, he noticed with those miss-nothing eyes.
Oh god, what was she supposed to do now?
She couldn’t wipe it off with her shirt or forearm—talk about no manners. And then she’d either have an unprofessional stain or a sticky forearm. Same problem if she used her hand…
She licked it off. Quick. Precise. Nothing sexual. Just a swift swipe to get the job done with her gaze dutifully not looking at the male.
But she knew he watched her, could all but feel those predatory eyes of his on her as if she were his latest prey.
“I’m a bit sweaty from being out in the field.” Yeah, she’d noticed. “Do you mind if I rinse off before we start?”
“Of course. Er, I mean, I don’t mind at all.” She tucked her hair behind her ear again and his eyes tracked the movement. “I’m the one who showed up almost an hour early.”
“I’ll just be a few, Miss Maddie.” His eyes flicked to her glass, then her mouth, before he turned and called out over his shoulder. “Lemonade’s in the fridge if you’d like more. Help yourself.”
She could imagine that smirk of his firmly in place. And oh god, his back muscles were—
Stop!
Screwed. Yeah, she was so supremely screwed.
Fate surely had a twisted sense of humor that had decided to pick on her for some inexplicable reason.
Whatever. It was fine. This was fine. She could do this for six months. It was only six months. No big deal. NBD.
Again, the Cowboy Convict fantasy (and her misfiring hormones) would absolutely fizzle out way before then anyway.
CHAPTER 4
Apparently, her hormones and Cowboy Convict fantasies hadn’t received the fizzle-out memo. Despite her repeated notices… daily.
For whatever reason—okay, her brain didn’t have to work too hard to figure it out—she just couldn’t shake the feeling of how his big, warm hands had felt on her waist. She even checked several times to see if they’d left seared marks on her flesh. They hadn’t, of course. She was just going crazy.
It’d been almost three weeks and all she could think about was the sizzling Cowboy Convict.
And for Healing Heaven’s sake, how wholly inappropriate was it that she called him that? Never out loud, of course. Not like that made it any better… because she still thought it… about her patient.
And yeah, their sessions hadn’t exactly been what she’d been used to. Basically, the male dodged every question that was anywhere near his conviction or time behind bars. That was fine. She wouldn’t force him (or any of her patients) to talk about things they didn’t want to. That wasn’t her job.
Speaking of which, she couldn't help but think she was kinda sorta failing at her job when it came to Clyde. Their time had felt more like awkward teenagers working on a school project together. Okay, maybe that had just been on her side. He seemed perfectly comfortable, perfectly casual, perfectly feline.
Wait, they did have that one brief conversation about facing fears. She couldn’t recall how it’d come up, but she remembered the topic because it had really been the only thing of substance they’d ever really talked about. And even then, it’d been brief.
Other than that, she really barely knew the male.
But that seemed to only amp up her fantasy and desire to get to know the male more and for him to get to know her. Which only had her pulling the reins back on that bright idea. This was a one-sided deal. Her holding space and helping Clyde. Not a two-way street.
“You have any plans for the solstice?” Clyde asked casually, conversationally, as they approached her car.
He always lived up to be that Southern gentlemale that she pegged him for by insisting on walking her from the front porch to her car, even though there really was no need for an escort for all of what, like twenty steps? Just as there wasn’t a need for him to open her car door. But again, he always did the hold-the-door-open thing.
God, how was it that she finally met a decent male with manners (who was all farmboy gorgeous to boot) but he was completely and utterly off-limits?
Meanwhile, her inbox was inundated with disrespectful pickup lines, borderline offensive one-night-stand offers, and inappropriate pictures from males and their anatomy left and right.
Seriously, what had the “dating” world turned into? A peacocking event of six-packs, filters, and booty-call offers?
Really, how could the Universe be so cruel?
And did females actually positively respond to the males who’d been messaging her too? Like, were they satisfied with meeting up with those males for a quickie hookup? It must be because why else would males keep doing it?
One of her latest “offers” was a male who’d sent her a picture of his chiseled abs, saying that was the view she’d have as she rode him.
Then again, here she was, racking up quite a mental photo album of the Caswell Convict. She knew she’d be lying through her teeth if she denied that she’d been showing up a tad early to their sessions in the hopes that she’d catch a glimpse of his muscled and sweaty torso.
And she probably should’ve questioned why he was always shirtless and post-workout or doing whatever it was he did that required a no-shirt policy. Then again, why would she question that when she was fully reaping the benefits?
Wait, shit, he asked a question. What was it? Oh yeah, the summer solstice was in a couple of days, which was a huge holiday in the species world.
Big parties. Festivals. Fairs. The whole nine yards. So, it wasn’t an unusual topic to be brought up in casual conversations during this time of year, including with total strangers while in line at the store stocking up for said celebration.
“I’m going to a party with a friend.”
She decided not to mention that she was only going out of best friend code default because the male Jen had recently been dating suddenly ghosted her after they had sex for the first time. Jen heard about the party through a coworker and as much as Maddie wanted to decline, she knew Jen needed this.
And she wasn’t a Bah Humbug or anything. It was just that big parties weren’t really her scene—nor Jen’s, but, again, her friend needed this to forget about the ditching douche. Usually, both of them preferred to hang out and watch movies or something. And when she wasn’t with Jen, Maddie’s nights involved curling up with a good book and a glass of wine… or hot chocolate, depending on her mood.
And shocker, the males in real life just couldn’t compete with the romance novels she devoured. Except, a certain male who may or may not be completely off-limits.
“What about you? Have any plans?” she asked, trying not to notice how he raked his hand through his shoulder-length hair as if he were in a shampoo commercial.
“My pride goes all-out for the solstice.”
“You know, now that you mention it, I think I’ve actually heard stories of the Caswell Pride’s parties.”
“Wouldn’t be surprised.” A slight chuckle accompanied his grin. It just further fueled the sexy hair commercial playing out in her head. “Usually, the pride likes to keep its parties to just pride mates and a few close and trusted others. But when we do open it up, we go big and things have been known to get a little… wild.”
The commercial was suddenly over and the reality show was back on—where she went on living her boring life and attending the party with Jen where she’d likely just end up at the food table in the corner while checking the time and wondering when she could leave.
Meanwhile, in Caswell Convictlandia, the gorgeous male was going to be livin’ it up, partying with his pride, and likely have his choice of female that he’d like to enjoy the solstice with. Hell, for all she knew, he already had a summer fling and would be going with a date.
And why does any of that matter, Maddie? He’s your patient. You’re his mind healer. And if you’d like to keep collecting your nice paychecks and keep your hard-earned license, then you better get a handle on things.
*.*.*.*.*
* * *
Fascinated didn’t even begin to describe it. Maddie’s scent. Her wildly curly hair. Her smile. Her big brown eyes… and the way those eyes seemed to react whenever he said her name.
The first time he noticed the reaction, he wasn’t sure if it was related. So he’d said it again. And got the same response. Plus, a bonus flare of her scent. Well, if that hadn’t been encouragement...
So, he’d said her name again. And again. And again. Basically, as much as possible.
Yeah, he was playing with her. He was a feline. It could hardly be helped.
And he’d found that he enjoyed playing with her in little ways, subtle ways. Found he looked forward to it. He used to dread his mandatory mind-healing sessions. But now… Yeah, with Maddie, he practically counted down the days until the next one.
He wished he didn’t have to see her in the context of a session though. And the fact that she was his mind healer also made shit exponentially harder. Especially because he didn’t exactly want to talk about his past or spill his guts to a female that he’d rather play with.
So, round and round they went in their sessions.
Her asking the questions. Him dodging and wondering if it was too soon to slip in some more harmless flirting.
He’d been trying to be low-key about his flirting tactics too. Like how he’d made damn sure to always be “working in the field” or something that required for his shirt to be off when she arrived too. Because he’d seen the way her eyes tried not to look at his torso.
