Kegan said something that he didn’t quite catch. He leaned sideways, trying to see around the edge of the unit. “What?”
“You got a good grip on that side, right?”
Before he could reply that he didn’t, the entire cabinet tilted precariously toward him. “Son of a bitch.” Moving fast, he slammed his shoulder into the upper shelf, leveraging all his weight against the solid mass of wood. The unit groaned and creaked in protest before tipping safely into place. He stepped back a pace, his hand automatically reaching for his throbbing left shoulder.
Kegan popped his head around the corner of the cabinet, his face mottled with sweat. “I thought you said you had a damn grip.”
He could think of a million responses to Kegan’s stupid-ass assumption, most of them involving the use of more F bombs, but the sudden and unexpected gentle probing of fingers along his aching deltoid muscle stalled him. Clarissa’s fresh spring scent filled his nostrils, and he shivered in unrestrained pleasure while she continued to knead his flesh. The soft intonation of her chanted spell drifted to his ears, flowing in a melodic pattern that wove within the very fibers of his muscles and blossomed into a soothing buffer of warmth. Almost immediately, the ache vanished.
“Better?” she whispered.
“No,” he lied in hopes of keeping her there, touching him for eternity. A knowing smile curved her mouth, and she dropped her hand.
Just as he was about to curse his rotten luck, Constance tossed a bottle at him. He caught it and gave her a blank stare.
“Charmed massage oil. One of our best sellers.” Constance waggled her brows. A wicked chuckle escaping her, she darted her eyes in Clarissa’s direction. “I’m sure you can find a willing volunteer to give you a rubdown later.”
A lengthy look passed between the two witches, during which Clarissa’s body stiffened and Constance’s grin widened. Finally Clarissa broke the stare and muttered “Shit” before stalking off. He waited exactly ten heartbeats before following after her. She was pacing just beyond the threshold of the stockroom, her expression suggesting that she’d just discovered the world was ending tomorrow. Shoving her fingers through to the roots of her hair, she peered at him. “Constance knows you’re my wonder stud.” She returned his stare, her cheeks flushing. “Her words, not mine.”
Well damn. Seems he needed to up his game. “Is it so horrible that she knows about us?”
Her gaze dropped, giving him all the answer he needed. A sharp pain stabbed him in the vicinity of his heart. “Are you fuckin’ ashamed of sleepin’ with me?”
She jerked her head up, her mouth falling open. “Good goddess, of course not. I—I just hate people knowing my personal business and speculating.”
“On what?”
She stared at the ground again and hugged her chest. He didn’t know what twisted his insides more. The shaky vulnerability in her voice, or the fact that she didn’t want anyone to know about their relationship. And goddamn it, it was a relationship. Corralling his frustration, he plunked the bottle of massage oil on top of the stack of boxes and crossed to Clarissa, taking her into his arms the way he’d been longing to do since stepping foot into the shop. “Whatever you’re scared of, Rissa, don’t be. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”
Rather than the reassurance he’d hoped for, a shadow of gloom crept into her eyes, and she swallowed. Desperate to detour her from whatever dark path her mind was taking, he lowered his head and kissed her. A breathy sigh parted her lips, granting him the perfect opportunity to glide his tongue over hers. After the briefest hesitation, her hands smoothed upward across his torso before slipping behind his neck. He cradled her waist, holding her close against him. For several long, delicious moments, he explored her mouth, basking in the soft gasps she made. His hands trailed to her breasts and cupped them through the layers of her bra and knit top. “I’ve got to leave for work, but the entire duration of my shift I’m gonna be fantasizin’ about gettin’ these luscious babies slick with that massage oil so you and me can play some naked Twister.”
Her laugh didn’t quite defeat her groan. She tried to push away from him, but he tightened his grip, his mouth sliding toward the underside of her jaw. “I get off early tonight. Come by around eight.”
“Why? So you can get off again?”
“Yep. Don’t worry, you’ll be getting off also. Too many times to count.”
“Hm, in that case, maybe I better bring my calculator.”
He nibbled her earlobe. “Doubt it can add that high.”
“Nice to see you’ve finally gotten that ego under control.”
Her dry sarcasm was precisely the response he’d been hoping for. Whatever sadness that’d imprisoned Clarissa earlier had vanished. The world was right again.
“I’ll see you later.” He kissed her one last time before reluctantly releasing her from his grasp. “Skip wearing underwear, though. Saves time.”
One ginger eyebrow lifted. “Maybe I should ditch clothes all together.”
A hot lick of lust curled in his groin at the mental image that sprang to mind. “Even better.” Willing his hard-on to dissipate, he turned on his heel, swiped the bottle of massage oil and strode from the room.
Once in the main section of the store, he found himself the subject of Constance’s amused scrutiny. “Wow, your aura is practically blinding me.” While she made a mock show of shielding her eyes, Kegan grimaced in the direction of Logan’s fly. “For crying out loud, does that thing have a damn off switch?”
Deciding it was way past time for some payback for the wisecracks and almost getting squashed by a cabinet, Logan shot Kegan a wolfish grin. “Might want to shut up before I decide to tell Constance how you’re too chickenshit to ask her out.”
His face turning redder than an overcooked lobster, Kegan jerked his gaze to Constance, who was gaping at her familiar like he’d sprouted a foot from the center of his forehead. Snapping his focus back to Logan, Kegan mouthed the word Motherfucker and stormed outside. The front windows afforded a more than adequate view as the bear shifter climbed into the pickup and banged the door shut before cracking his knuckles and glaring at Logan.
Giving the dazed Constance a chipper smile, Logan strode toward the exit. And no doubt one hell of an ass beating.
But damn if it wasn’t worth it.
Chapter Twelve
Clarissa fully expected Constance to harass her about Logan at some point during the two hours they’d spent cataloging inventory together. The fact that her coven sister hadn’t brought him up at all left her a tad worried. And on guard. Knowing Constance, she was waiting for the most inconvenient moment to spring it on her. So she was more than relieved when the front door chimed and Fiona strolled inside, Jade trailing behind her with a sulky pout.
Jade gave an angry jerk to her backpack. “Just so you know, you’re the meanest sister on the planet.”
“Wrong. I came in second to Tula Jasper. She’s got the award sitting on her mantel if you don’t believe me.”
Her eyes hotter than lasers fueled by the wrath of a million petulant teenagers, Jade glared at Fiona’s back before flouncing in the direction of the kitchenette. Soon as Jade was out of earshot, Fiona flung out her arms. “So help me, if I possessed even a fraction of the melodramatic histrionics as Jade when I was her age, I owe Aunt Gert a whopper of an apology.”