Storiebook Charm (A Spellbound Novel 1) Page 11

  She moved one hand from his shoulder. Checking her watch, he guessed, but he didn’t open his eyes to confirm.

  “Eight twenty-five,” she said.

  He remembered checking his watch as he and Storie had been interrupted by the woman. That had been at around eight o’clock, so he’d lost about fifteen minutes. Where had they gone? “What the hell happened?” he asked again.

  She sat back as he propped himself up on his arms. “I already told you. You fell.”

  “Bullshit.” His vision finally cleared and he looked more closely at her. Her face was still pale and her lips had turned blue. “What happened?” he asked for the third time and with slow deliberation. “Was that really your mother?”

  She hesitated for a minute before saying softly, “That’s what she said.”

  “Do you believe her?”

  Her hands clenched. Above them, the ceiling fan began to spin, gently at first, then with more power. “I don’t know.”

  He came to a sitting position, and then stood, grabbing the hammer. “I think you have a few secrets, don’t you, Storiebook?”

  She scoffed, the color returning to her cheeks. “I guess you’d know, wouldn’t you?”

  He responded with his own question. “Your name might lead people to believe you’re an open book, but you’re not, are you, darlin’?”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but seemed to think better of it, instead turning on her heel and stalking off.

  As he watched her disappear into the kitchen, all he could think was that she was anything but an open book, and every minute he spent with her, he became more and more curious about what, exactly, she was hiding.

  Chapter 10

  From the minute Reid stepped into The Storiebook Café to the moment he left, he had one eye searching for some clue about the special moonshine ingredient, and the other eye watching Storie’s every move. He couldn’t figure out what it was about her that puzzled him. And set him on edge. And made her more interesting than any other woman he’d ever met.

  The thing was, he knew she was just as intrigued about him. It had been pretty damn obvious from the other night, and that was both a huge turn-on and a huge stumbling block. He didn’t want ties to Whiskey Creek, and Storie was here to stay. But damn it, he hadn’t been kidding when he’d told her they could have some fun together. At this point, it felt like they had nothing to lose.

  Reality smacked him upside the head. He was here for one thing, and one thing only: to find the missing ingredient for Jiggs’s moonshine. If it were here, he’d find it.

  He’d searched high and low, checking everywhere he could think of, and still nothing. No more secret rooms, hollows in the wall, or hidden cubbies.

  Storie and Harper kept busy all day, every day, often staying until Harper’s little girls were dead tired. Tonight was no exception. They’d all spent the day stocking books, coffees, and teas, finalizing the grand opening menu, and doing a million other last-minute details. The scent of cinnamon from Harper’s baking floated in the air.

  Piper and Scarlett stood in the doorway watching Reid put the finishing coat of paint on the wainscoting around the garden room. They chattered nonstop, making him laugh and throw his hands up in mock exasperation when they begged to help him.

  Storie passed through the garden room, stopping as the girls asked him for the umpteenth time if they could help him paint. She put her hands on her hips and scolded them, looking damn sexy in her jeans and red, bleach-spattered top. He smiled to himself. She wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty, that was for sure.

  “Girls, you need to leave Mr. Malone be. He’s got things to do.”

  She didn’t look at him. Interesting. In fact, she hardly spoke to him. Ever since that night when her mother had shown up and he’d lost those precious fifteen minutes, she’d stayed as far away from him as possible. She’d gone about her business at the shop on autopilot, focused on getting everything on her precious lists done, but the smiles he’d seen when she and Harper had first taken ownership and during the majority of the renovations were gone. She’d lost the joy she’d had about opening the shop, and for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what had changed. A veil of sadness seemed to have draped over her that she couldn’t escape.

  “We just want to help,” Piper whined.

  Scarlett lifted her chin, her lower lip plumping in a perfect little pout. “Why can’t we paint?”

  “Because we’re running out of time,” Storie said. “Assuming anyone even comes,” she muttered.

  He frowned. He’d rally the townsfolk and make sure the opening was well-attended. “We’ll do a mural,” he told the girls. “In the tearoom.” The second the words left his mouth, he wished he could pull them back. The Gemstone people would be here any day and he still didn’t have the ingredient for the moonshine. The renovations were nearly done and The Storiebook Café would be open and he’d be shit out of luck. The clock really was ticking, and the only way to keep looking was to get closer to Storie, a complication neither one of them seemed to want.

  “Piper! Scarlett!” Harper called from the kitchen, her voice getting louder as she passed through the tearoom and into the former garage. “Having a party without me?”

  “Not likely, Harper,” Storie said. “You are the party.”

  “Don’t know about that, but I am the food,” she said with a tired smile. “Two more days and the grand opening will be over, thank goodness. Then we can get on to our regular business. I need routine.”

  “Me, too,” Storie said softly, but the smile he expected to see didn’t appear. No encouragement for Harper. No pep talk about the end being in sight.

  Harper looked at her, concern etched in the tired lines on her face. “You okay, sugar?”

  She waved off the question. “Fine. Just beat.”

  Oh no, it was way more than that, he’d bet that secret moonshine ingredient on it. He sensed the tension emanating from her. She wouldn’t look him in the eye. Would hardly look at Harper. He knew she didn’t want him here, but she’d also given up fighting him about it. Whatever was bugging her had taken hold like a virus and was spreading.

  “It’s late,” Harper said. “Time to call it a night. Have a drink and go to bed.” She gathered up Piper and Scarlett, and ushered them toward the front. “Let’s get a move on.”

  Storie walked out with them. If only he could help her somehow, but there wasn’t anything he could do. If his mother suddenly appeared after years of silence, he’d definitely be freaked, no question.

  He packed up his tools for the night, shaking his head. He was busting his ass to get this place in shape for their grand opening, and she acted like he wasn’t even here, barely acknowledging him when she walked by. Which pissed him off more than it rightfully should. He didn’t want encumbrances. Didn’t want to get involved with her at all. But all that fell out the window as Harper’s voice faded away and Storie mounted the stairs to her loft.

  He could call it a night like they had and go home, but his renovated Victorian off the square was big and empty and he didn’t particularly want to go to his empty bed and his incessant thoughts of her.

  He could go back to The Speakeasy. Jules would be there, and all he’d have to do was crook his finger and she’d come home with him.

  But he didn’t want Jules.

  Damn it, he wanted to experience the fantasy he’d been having for the last eight years, the one they’d come so close to living out the other night before they’d stumbled into the moonshine room.

  He wanted Storie.

  He headed for the stairs, but at the last second, he detoured to the kitchen. A good bottle of pinot noir or Cab sounded good right about now. He’d put his friend, Jason Santiago, in touch with Harper, and Jason had brought over some sample bottles from his Hill Country Winery. Reid looked in the pantry and was rewarded with a bottle of Shiraz. He grabbed it, found two glasses in one of the cupboards, and opened the wine. Cupping the glasses in his palm, he
took the stairs two at a time.

  A peace offering, and maybe a fresh start between them.

  Storie turned on the faucet, filling the old claw bathtub with hot water. She looked around the bathroom for a bottle of bath milk or salts or bubble bath. Anything to help her sink into a blissful oblivion, even for just a few minutes.

  Nothing.

  She was about to utter a spell but she spotted the bucket of dried astrids she’d brought upstairs. Perfect. She pulled out a stem and ran her hand over them, siding the rough buds free. Opening her hand over the tub, she released the blossoms, allowing them to float down. They spread onto the water, releasing their sweet, intoxicating aroma. The scent reminded her of the brisk cold of an autumn day. Soothing and invigorating at the same time.

  She couldn’t get her conversation with Millie off her mind, and she still didn’t know what to do. Give up her life here, help the family she didn’t know, and not be forced to hide who she really was, or…stay here, keep hiding, and suffer the consequences. Her mother hadn’t laid it out, but the message had been clear. If she didn’t give up Whiskey Creek and The Storiebook Café, she’d be sorry. The veiled threat had been weighing her down ever since. She knew what she needed to do—hell, she’d agreed to it—she just didn’t want to.

  The flowers tinted the water a faint blue. Tiny flecks of glitter swirled and intermingled with the blossoms. She slipped out of her jeans and tank top and dipped a toe in.

  Tepid, but with a spell it was heated to the perfect temperature. Even that made her tired, but maybe it was just her imagination playing tricks on her.

  Or maybe it wasn’t. Everything her mother had said repeated in a loop in her head. Her brother’s and sister’s magic was fading, and hers would, too.

  Her fingers tingled from the effort of heating the water. Her powers had always made her an outcast, but she couldn’t imagine her life without them. They were part of her. If she wanted to keep her magic she really didn’t have a choice. She’d have to go through with leaving to save them all.

  She stepped in and sank into the tub, sliding down until she was completely submerged, fighting the tears burning her eyelids.

  The hot water and the scent from the flowers didn’t clear her head. Leaving Whiskey Creek, Harper and the girls, and The Storiebook Café… The truth all circled in her mind. Reid’s face came to the forefront. She’d been watching him for the past week as he worked through every item on her list, the memory of his hand on her back, his smile, and his voice commingling in her mind.

  Watching him when he didn’t know she was looking, her breath stalled the two times she’d seen him pull his shirt off, revealing his muscular chest, broad shoulders, and strong arms. And that tattoo. His jeans hung low on his hips, revealing the waistband of his boxers underneath. Once, he’d turned to face her. She’d ducked out of sight and had to utter a spell to mask the stuttered breath that came after she managed to suck in a lungful of oxygen. His stomach had that six-pack rippled effect and a spattering of dark hair that trailed to a thin line, snaking beneath his jeans.

  A flutter circled low in her stomach, moving lower until she ached inside. Ached for Reid and his touch.

  Music. She needed music to get him off her mind. She couldn’t afford to spend time thinking about him, not when she had two days to get everything in order with The Storiebook Café so Harper, Piper, and Scarlett wouldn’t have to worry about anything and their dreams would come true.

  Not everybody’s could.

  She snapped her fingers and Bach filled the air. Even that small effort made her sleepy. Closing her eyes, she sank deeper into the water, making a mental list of all the reasons to steer clear of Reid Malone. Much more fun to think of that than to dwell on the responsibility she had to siblings she’d only just learned about from a mother she didn’t even know.

  Chapter 11

  Reid had a recurring fantasy. It always started with Storie calling his name in her throaty voice, just deep enough to be tempting and still plenty feminine with just a hint of Southern accent making her sound sweet. What a blessedly intoxicating mixture that was. In his head, the pickup truck from that summer night had been replaced by her Jeep, but she was soaked through, her wet tank top clinging to her body, taunting him. “I want you, Reid,” she’d say, and then a soft, satisfied moan would escape and she’d whisper, in his ear, “I’ve always wanted you.”

  He shook his head, erasing the image from his mind. He rapped his knuckles on the door upstairs, but the strains of Bach filtered through. The volume rose, then dipped. Interesting. Given the name of her cat, he’d pegged her for a Miranda Lambert kind of girl. Pistol Annies and maybe even Taylor Swift, but not one of the masters. She was full of surprises, and he was curious about each and every one.

  He knocked again. The door was cracked open. He pushed through, almost calling out her name, but holding his tongue at the last second.

  She was no damsel in distress. He didn’t know what she was, but he wanted nothing more than to find out.

  The room was empty. Okay, not empty of boxes and furniture, but empty of her.

  He took a moment to note the details of the loft. The kitchenette and bedroom shared the space, with what he assumed was the bathroom through a broken door, half hanging off its hinges, in the back. The music originated from there. Boxes were stacked against one wall. The floor was torn up and the kitchen looked like a tornado had touched down.

  His eyes zipped to the queen-size bed pushed into the corner. The fun we could have there, he thought, but a sound in the back caught his attention. Maybe the bottle of wine would be enough to seduce her into that bed with him, but he didn’t want to think too much about that yet. One step at a time.

  God, how could she stand to live in this place? Come tomorrow, he’d move his tools up here and at least make it livable for her. Crafting a mental shopping list, he walked toward the bathroom, pouring wine into the glasses as he moved.

  Behind the door, the water ran. He ran his hand over his face. Storie in the shower. Christ.

  At the crooked door, he raised his hand to knock on the frame and caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. And just about lost every last trace of oxygen in his body. She lay in crystal blue water in an old-fashioned claw-foot bathtub, her arms cradling the sides, her head reclined, eyes closed.

  He should turn away, shouldn’t spy on her like this, but he couldn’t move. Could hardly breath. There was something about her and water. His body instantly reacted. He was mesmerized, drawn to her as sure as a damn bee was drawn to pollen, and his blood pulsed with desire.

  He took his time looking at her, memorizing every last detail. Her hair was wet and floated in the water. Her face held a peaceful expression and her lips curved up, the barest hint of a smile on her lips.

  After a moment, she raised one arm in a gentle movement that reminded him of a ballerina.

  And then the music changed. Grew softer.

  His spine stiffened. She didn’t have a remote. Red flags shot up in his mind and his thoughts circled around until he settled on a few of the stories he’d heard back when she’d been a senior at Whiskey CreekHigh School. She’s a freak. A demon. No, a witch.

  He’d dismissed them as fairy tales. Witches weren’t real, and yet… Something about the way she moved her arm struck him.

  But the thought catapulted away the next second as she stretched one leg out onto the edge of the tub. Her hands slipped beneath the water, and her back arched just enough that the curves of her breasts broke the surface of the water. His breath roared in his lungs and all he could think about was how he wanted to sink into the water with her. He wanted to make a little magic of his own with her.

  Distracted, he loosened his hold on the glasses in his hand. They clinked together, and her eyes popped open, her head whipping around.

  “Didn’t mean to startle you,” he said calmly. More in control than he felt. He pushed the door open all the way as her startled gaze met his.

&n
bsp; Her arm flew out of the water, her fingers pointed at him as if she could unleash a beam of lightning and strike him dead, but she breathed, drew her hand into a fist, and sank beneath the water. “What are you doing here? I told you, upstairs is off-limits.”

  Trying to figure out how to have you, just for a night. “You’ve been stressed. Thought a little wine might help.” He held up the glasses and the bottle of Shiraz.

  “I’m taking a bath,” she said, a husky layer to her voice.

  “So I noticed.” He cracked a suggestive grin. “Got room for me?”

  Bold, he knew, but why the hell not just ask for what he wanted? A week ago they hadn’t seen each other in nearly a decade. A few days ago they’d been at odds. But now, why not enjoy each other’s company for a night?

  She balked. “Are you insane?”

  Very well could be. Getting close to her was the last thing he should let happen, and he suspected that once he did have a taste, he’d be addicted. And addiction didn’t bode well for someone ready to leave town. It just meant he’d be back for more and never truly free.

  But, he reasoned, he had nothing to lose. He hadn’t found what Jiggs needed, and pretty soon he’d have no reason to be at The Storiebook Café, which meant he wouldn’t have many more chances to make this offer. And if he stuck to his plan, Whiskey Creek would be a speck in his rearview mirror before too long.

  “Quite possibly,” he said. He approached the tub, doing a double take. Bubbles. There hadn’t been any a few seconds ago, but now a thin layer skimmed the surface of the water.

  He blinked. What the…?

  Working here, then tending to the bar and handling his business holding, must be getting to him. His imagination was working overtime. He held the glass out to her, but she didn’t reach for it. “You have a lot of nerve barging in here, Reid Malone,” she said, fire lacing her words. Or maybe it was desire. “I told you, I don’t need you up here.”