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BEFORE YOU
BY TRACEY JERALD
CHAPTER ONE
ETHAN
Five Years Ago—Kensington, Texas
I gorge on the sight of her loosened hair. Golden locks catch in the precious breeze, lifting fine tendrils away from a face I’m confident artists once fought wars to carve from alabaster.
Because it’s almost certain the young woman standing a few feet in front of me is a witch. Otherwise, I think bitterly, How could she have merely sauntered through my father’s front door and cursed me?
In a past life, Fallon Brookes’s name must have been Venus or Aphrodite. Almost certainly, men pursued her as much as I’m heaping blasphemous thoughts upon her now. But is it really her fault she was gifted with such exquisite beauty?
I try to suppress the growl rising from deep in my chest at the yes that wants to erupt. No eighteen-year-old should be blessed with such a fatal combination of features guaranteed to turn a man rock hard. No, Fallon’s no witch. Perhaps she’s related to Medusa. Like the mythical Gorgon power I’m presuming has been passed down her family lineage, Fallon turns a man to stone from the moment he lays eyes on her.
Namely, me.
Even knowing her effect, and despite resenting it, I study her unabashed sexuality safely from behind my darkly tinted lenses. I suppose I should be grateful. Close to two thousand years later, at least it’s only my dick that hardens when I look at her instead of my whole body.
My niece shared a great deal about her before I actually met her when I acted as chauffeur for the two of them a few months ago. “Fallon is smart, dedicated, loyal, and determined.”
I remember flicking an avuncular smile in Austyn’s direction before my Jeep door flew open and a goddess slid into the back seat. With a lightning quick wit, she drawled, “So, you’re the infamous ‘Uncle E.’ I’ve heard so much about.”
Dumbstruck by her beauty, I nodded.
Feigned innocent eyes met mine in the rearview. “Are you the kind of uncle who wants us to make polite conversation with you until we get where we’re going or are you more comfortable being ignored? I can do either.”
Austyn howled even as my gaze challenged hers. Softly, I questioned, “Think you can ignore me so easily, Ms. Brookes?”
She shrugged, as if the warning in my voice meant nothing to her. “You’re a man. It won’t be terribly hard.”
My tongue almost fell out of my mouth at her insolence. It was then she smiled snuggly before winking at me.
In an attempt to forget the deity who made herself comfortable with my family, I forced myself to go on several first dates with women who in no way reminded me of Fallon. Revulsion surges through me as I recall the way I felt after those evenings out—as if I had the wrong woman on my arm. Now, seeing her, I know why.
My body was admitting what my brain wouldn’t. A “Do you really think so?” or a “Wow. Is that just you or all men who are so arrogant?” from Fallon can stir more emotion than lengthy exchanges with women—who might be closer to my own age but did nothing to raise any part of me—body or mind.
If it wasn’t for her damn age. If Fallon wasn’t my niece’s best friend. Fuck, who am I lying to? I might be willing to risk my family’s shock and abhorrence if I didn’t think Fallon planned on putting Kensington into her rear view the very second she had the chance. After all, from everything my niece has been saying, they plan on living it up at UT in the fall.
They deserve to, I chastise myself. They deserve the rush of the first college party, the first time they forget to bring their keys to dinner and beg someone to let them back in the dorm. My eyes skim over Fallon as I recall a memory from my own college days—the fun of a fire drill when you’re in the middle of a shower.
Fuck. Now all I can picture is Fallon wrapped in a towel, struggling to keep it tied around her ample breasts despite gravity... Maybe the burn in my gaze makes her skin warm. Singularly stunning eyes cut in my direction. Plump lips curve upward, revealing a dimple before she nods in the direction of where her and Austyn’s graduation cake rests. “Are you certain we have to wait?”
Fuck no. I don’t want to wait. I want you now. I study the table the cake rests on. If it were up to me, I’d have the excuse of a dress covering Fallon’s body rucked up past her hips before bending her near her cake. One of my hands would pluck at her nipples while the other fought with hardware and fastenings until my pants dropped over my shoes. My hands would smooth over her ass cheeks before I forced her back to arch slightly. I’d slide myself deep. Hard. Fallon’s hands would reach out, inadvertently slapping at the cake. When she lifts her hand away—gaze dazed, fingers smeared with frosting—I’d grab her hand, suck her fingers clean, causing a deep moan to emerge from her throat.
And that’s before I began thrusting.
Shit. If my cock isn’t twitching visibly beneath my dress slacks as my body gives way to my fantasies, I’ll take my rightful place in hell.
She lifts one knee to reach the strap on one of her sandaled heels while we both wait for everyone to emerge from the house. All it does is send another shaft of lust surging through me as the hem of her skirt edges even higher. Taunting me. Filling my mind with more explicit thoughts I shouldn’t—can’t!—act on.
Wanting to fuck my niece’s best friend crosses every code of fucking morality—most of which I was certain my soul had forgotten long before this vixen was born. I know I can’t have her, but that doesn’t mean the nights I came home from those pointless dates and stroked my cock, imagining the warmth of her mouth covering it. Right before I find the first flat surface, hoist her up, spread her thighs apart, and penetrate her.
Pulling me from my fantasy, Fallon gasps. Her body sways violently when her sandal catches in the string of a cluster of balloons. Just as she’s about to fall headfirst into the three-tiered cake, my hands reach out and grab her around the waist. Hauling her against my chest, I’m close enough to interpret every emotion in her indigo eyes.
Sharp pain wars with biting pleasure. I growl, “Are you okay, witch?”
