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“So you’re the one who got the master bed and bath.” He sighed. “I’m jealous. I think my part of the house was the servants’ quarters. And just so you know, the tub in this room is twenty percent longer than the standard tub. Apparently, Mrs. Wainwright was a large woman.”
It would have hurt my feelings that he just called my great-grandmother fat, but he was doing an awfully nice job with the neck rub. It pricked at my conscience that I still hadn’t told Jed why I was in the Hollow. I mean, the man had seen me naked, but I wasn’t willing to tell him about my family’s unorthodox history? I ached to tell him about the recent development with Dick, but it would have involved an excessive amount of explaining, when all I wanted to do was sit quietly with someone who knew nothing about magic or centuries-old magical yard-sale finds. (And had abdominals you could use for laundry.)
With recently ended relationships, cultural differences, and as-yet-undisclosed vampire relatives, we were dealing with enough issues without adding magic into the mix.
“Rough day?” he asked.
“I learned a lot,” I said as he brushed the wet hair out of my face. Like the fact that I could create tiny storm systems with my mind. That was a life lesson if there ever was one. “Why don’t you take off those clothes and join me in this big old tub?”
“Because if you’re all wet and slippery and I’m all wet and slippery, one of us might get hurt when I do this.” He leaned down and kissed me softly on the lips. I rose to my knees, plucking at the buttons of his shirt with my wet fingers. I threw it onto the floor, and before I could get to his jeans, he pulled me against him. He was right, it was slippery. My skin slid against his, and he nearly dropped me as he dragged me out of the tub and wrapped a towel around me, although he didn’t give me time to dry off as we fumbled toward the bed.
I looped my ankle around his, pushing him back onto the bed so I could yank the jeans and boxers away. He chuckled. “Well, this is an exciting new side to you.”
Grinning wildly, I climbed up on the bed, hovering over him, and settled my hips over his. I tucked my feet under his calves and stretched down the length of his body.
“Soooo bendy,” he murmured, threading his hands through my hair and pressing his lips to mine.
“Really, Jed—”
“Nola, there’s something I’ve been wantin’ to tell you for a while now,” he murmured against my lips.
“Hmm?”
He gently pinched my lips shut with his fingertips. “Shh.”
I rolled my eyes as he smirked. His hips surged forward with a snap, and my whole body sang.
12
Never trust a werewolf when life is on the line.
—When, What, Witch, Were, and Why?
The Five W’s of Safe Interactions with the Paranormal
Dr. Hackett took a week off to go trout fishing in Arkansas, leaving me with time to throw myself into searching Specialty Books. The solstice deadline was looming in three weeks. I tried to use the die to contact Nana Fee (without Andrea’s help), but all I managed to do was make contact with one of Jane’s former step-grandfathers. He just wanted to say hello and tell her that “Grandma Ruthie is still secured,” whatever that meant.
As I had officially scoured every inch of the shop space, including searching for the athame in the utensil drawer of the coffee bar, I called or e-mailed Mr. Wainwright’s contacts in the artifact market, anyone who might have supplied him with items for the shop, on the off chance that Mr. Wainwright had traded the athame for stock. Giving them a sob story about my grandmother accidentally selling a family heirloom to Mr. Wainwright, I asked if they would mind sending me a picture of any athames they’d bartered through the shop. If it was the item I was looking for, I offered to buy it back for fifty percent more than they’d paid for it.
A buyer in California told me to mind my own damn business and hung up on me. A buyer in Canada was only too happy to help, but the handle of his athame was blue enamel with a dark onyx stone. And the buyer in Spain . . .
“I know my Spanish is rusty, but I’m pretty sure cuadros desnudos means ‘naked pictures,’ ” Andrea said, handing me a printout as we sprawled around my living room, sorting through these e-mails. Jed, who had been spending more and more time in my half of the duplex, was perched on a ladder in the middle of the room, replacing the old globe light fixture with a ceiling fan. Because I still wasn’t ready for the whole witchcraft confession, we’d told him we were searching for some antiques to complete a collection for one of Jane’s customers.
“If you want to see what he has, he wants to see what you have. It’s your classic tit-for-athame scenario.”
“You are enjoying this far too much,” I told her.
“Yes, I am,” she said, nodding. Behind her, Jane gave me a wicked grin.
“I am not comfortable with this line of conversation,” Dick muttered, walking away. “If I see you with a camera, young lady, you’re grounded.”
Jed, who seemed wary of my protective vampire great-great-great-grandpa, raised his hand. “I’m with Mr. Cheney.”
“Yes, sir.” I sighed, tossing the e-mail in the trash.
“You don’t have to call him Mr. Cheney,” Andrea assured Jed as he made the last adjustment to the ceiling fan.
“Yes, I do,” Jed responded.
