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“Am I convincing you to stay?” he whispered, against her ear. There was amusement in his voice and a certain smug self-assurance that might have ticked her off, if she hadn’t been on the verge of orgasm.
She shoved her hips back, and he massaged her clit faster, flicking over it in the most tantalizing way, until she came in a sweet and sudden rush, a cry escaping her open mouth.
The rough surface of the brick wall grazed her cheek. Shuddering with relief, her flesh both raw and sensitive, she lifted up and away from his finger. The climax blistered through her, and she slumped back against the wall.
“I wasn’t ever going to leave,” she said, when her breathing leveled off.
It was the truth. There was no question about it.
9
WHEN GRAYSON HEARD THE KNOCK AT HIS door his spirits lifted, because he hoped that it signaled Zoë’s return. He was worried that he had unnerved her by pushing her too far too quickly. Sadly, he understood her denial far too well.
His father hadn’t wanted him to dabble with the supernatural or magic. But it wasn’t something Grayson had a choice about. It was part of him, handed down to him by his mother, a white witch from this area. Magic had, however, driven a wedge between his parents, and there was nothing his mother could do about that, even though her natural powers were immense. When he’d witnessed Zoë’s dismay and denial that morning, it served to remind him about his own split heritage and all the grief it had brought to his family.
He darted for the door, wanting it to be her, but when he opened it he saw Elspeth McGraw on his doorstep, dressed in a low-cut top, tight black jeans and shin-high Dr. Martens with purple laces.
She was the last person he expected.
“Well, look who it isn’t,” he murmured under his breath, disappointment taking hold of him.
She stood at the bottom of the three old stone steps that led up to his door, examining her fingernails.
“Problem?” he asked.
“I snagged a fingernail on your door knocker,” she said, somewhat suspiciously.
“I wonder why that would be.” He rested one hand on the door frame, amused that she hadn’t figured out that he ha
d a boundary spell on the place. “What can I do for you?”
“I came to deliver a message from Cain. You were up on the grounds of the restaurant after hours last night—”
“My, my, news does travel fast around here,” he interrupted. While he spoke he kept watch on a group of day-trippers walking by behind her, cameras in hand. When they saw that the lane ended just after his house they took a few photos of the sea view, and turned back. Just as well. There was liable to be a bit of a scene if Elspeth got any closer to the threshold of Cornerstone, and he didn’t want to scare off any tourists.
“If Cain ever finds you poking your nose around again, he says he won’t hesitate to call the police and get a restraining order slapped on you.”
Grayson laughed softly. “The police? Cain? That would be interesting, given that he was pouring drugged brandy down a tourist’s throat at the time.”
The day-trippers were well out of view. Casually, he stepped back, bending to pick up some junk mail from the doormat before resting one hand up against the door frame.
As expected, she tried to follow, getting closer as she continued to warn him off. “It doesn’t matter what you think, you’re the interloper here. Cain is a highly respected member of this community.”
“Yes, and all because he’s brought a few badly needed jobs to the neighborhood. Very astute of him, that.”
There was a smidgen of misgiving at the back of her eyes. She hadn’t thought about it from that angle.
“Luckily for Cain the majority of them haven’t latched on to his more nefarious interests as yet,” he added.
“You just don’t like him being in charge,” she snapped, “but what it’s got to do with you is beyond me.”
Eyes narrowed, she assessed him with obvious annoyance.
He shrugged. “There’s a lot you don’t know. I’d put money on the fact he hasn’t told you he’s been called warlock on more than one occasion in his lifetime.” Grayson had picked up that bit of information on the grapevine from the Abernathy coven along the coast. The derogatory label given to outcast witches may have been gossip and no more, but if Cain really had earned the title, it applied to his whole coven as well.
“That’s not true.” Even though she responded quickly she looked unsettled by the remark. If it were true it was bad news for her, and rightly so.
“What do you know of him, really?” he asked.
