Page 16 of Head Witch in Charge (The Sherwood Witches #2)

Her breath catches and her eyes darken with desire as she starts to take a step toward me before she catches herself.

It’s impressive seeing how she reels herself back, squaring her jaw, straightening her shoulders, and narrowing her eyes.

She’s good, but even she can’t hide the want when she looks at me and lets out a shaky breath.

“Been there, did that, got the—”

“Sixty-three orgasms to show for it,” I finish for her.

“I was going to say ‘T-shirt,’?” she says half a second before her cheeks go three shades brighter.

I know exactly what she’s remembering. Our shopping trip in Vegas. I’d sat outside the changing space in the private dressing room reserved for VIPs. The sales assistant had dropped off several outfits before closing the door and leaving us alone.

“Erik,” LeLe says, her voice low and breathy. “Stop it.”

“What?” I ask as if I don’t know. “I’m just standing here, not doing a damn thing. I’m not touching you. Or kissing you. Or asking you to try on another outfit.”

In Vegas, LeLe had tried on one dress after the other, each one getting smaller and smaller.

She’d strut close to the chair where I sat and do a three-sixty just out of my reach, teasing me with what I could almost see and touch.

I played along until she came out of the changing space in a distressed, threadbare designer T-shirt masquerading as a dress that gave me a new appreciation for the bottom curve of a woman’s ass.

When she came in close that time, there was no teasing turn or walking back.

“Stop thinking about it,” she says as she fans herself with her hand as if it’s suddenly gone from almost winter to the dog days of August and lets out a sound that is a lot of want and a little can’t have. “I cannot wait to divorce you when this is over.”

“Oh, LeLe.” I take a step closer, still white-knuckling the suitcases because they are the last thing I want to touch when I’m this close to her.

“You couldn’t wait when we were in that elevator or the shower or when you were wearing that T-shirt.

Always so impatient and demanding—especially when you know what you want. ”

For once, LeLe is without words, and for my part I’m about half a second away from dropping these stupid suitcases, tossing her over my shoulder, and going to find the closest at least semiprivate spot where I can fuck her happy like we did in Las Vegas.

One: Hold on for dear life to the luggage handles.

and

Two: Get as far away from my wife for the night so I can remember which head is in charge of things.

Too much is riding on my plan to mess things up now.

“Come on, wife,” I say as I start down the path toward the inn. “Your room awaits.”

“Don’t call me that,” she grumbles.

But she says it to my back, because I’m already walking down the winding stone path leading to our home for the night.

The Strawbery Banke Inn is a narrow three-story house painted pink and set aglow by the massive amount of fireflies hovering around it.

Oversized strawberry bushes line the stone walkway to the front porch, where a wizened old man with a pipe sits carving swans out of white cedar with lightning speed.

As soon as we get to the base of the five steps leading up to the porch, he pauses and gives us a slow up and down before folding the knife closed and dropping it into the front pocket of his worn denim overalls.

“Took you long enough.” He holds up his hand, the knuckles twisted and swollen with arthritis. “There’s only so many swans I can make before my joints start screaming. I strongly recommend you never piss off a pixie to the point where they curse you.”

LeLe and I look at each other and then back at the old man, who maybe shouldn’t be out this late on his own.

“I don’t think we’re the people you were expecting,” LeLe says, her tone soft as if she’s trying to coax a lost kitten into trusting her. “We just pulled over when we saw the sign.”

The old man gives us a slow look over. “Erik and LeLe?”

We nod, and I take a step closer to LeLe, angling myself so I’m between the old man and her.

Yeah, he might look like a harmless old guy out way past his bedtime, but in Witchingdom, things are often not exactly as they appear.

And before you get all sentimental, I didn’t move in front of her because I care.

It’s because I need her, or my plan falls apart. That’s it. Nothing else.

The old man tugs on his long wiry white beard and makes a few uh-huh noises. “Then you’re the ones.”

He stands up, and I swear I can hear all his joints cracking at once.

Whatever he did to the pixie who cursed him, it must have been bad.

He might be ancient, but he moves quickly.

He is across the porch and at the front door in a blink.

Yeah, my magic detector is buzzing like crazy.

Something is totally off about this place.

I glance over at LeLe and raise an eyebrow in question, but she just shrugs and climbs the stairs.

“How did you know we were coming?” she asks.

“Didn’t. The house did.” He holds the screen door open for us. “I’m Eustis Neale, the caretaker. Let’s get you squared away.”

LeLe walks in first, shooting me a what-the-fuck-is-going-on look over her shoulder. If I had an answer, I’d give it, but I am clueless.

She narrows her eyes at me and whispers, “Did you set this up like you did the heist at the unicorn shifter convention?”

“No one can prove that,” I tell her, adding in a wink just to make her blood boil.

That’s true. No one could prove it no matter how they tried. But let’s just say I did come into a good amount of cash when there was a sudden and unexpected Lucky Charms shortage and I was the only supplier in Witchingdom with (purloined) boxes on hand.

She grumbles something I don’t quite catch and turns away from me.

“Hold on, gotta turn out the lights outside.” Eustis leans half out the door while still holding the screen. “Averte lumina.”

In the next breath, all the fireflies lingering around the inn scatter in all different directions, disappearing into the woods. Before the screen door bangs shut behind Eustis, it’s so dark I can barely spot Bessie’s chrome gleaming in the moonlight coming through the canopy of trees.

“Come on,” Eustis says as he heads down a hallway. “I got a room set aside for ya.”

LeLe speeds up, trying and failing to match the old man’s surprisingly swift pace. “I was hoping you had two rooms?”

He shakes his head. “Nope.”

“Does it have two beds?” she asks, sounding way more hopeful than she should.

“Just the one.” He stops in front of the last door on the left.

She closes her eyes and I swear I can hear her muttered prayer to the fates for patience.

Throwing her a bone, I say, “A comfortable chair?”

Eustis opens the door. “Not enough space.”

He isn’t lying. There’s a gigantic heart-shaped bed in the middle of the room that leaves only enough space around it to walk on either side if a person turns sideways and shuffles.

“That’s okay, I got this,” LeLe says before waving her fingers. “Fac unum duo.”

Even though the doubling spell is a basic one, it should work.

And it does. The scent of warm cake donuts fills the room right as a jagged crack starts at the top of the crushed-velvet comforter and doesn’t stop until it splits the heart right down the middle.

Then an invisible force pushes the beds apart so there’s enough space to walk between them.

LeLe lets out a satisfied sigh and brushes her palms together like a blackjack dealer after they’ve dealt all the cards. “All better.”

Eustis snorts. “Give it a sec.”

A vibration rushes through the room fast enough that LeLe’s hair whooshes to the side. There’s a loud boing and the beds smash back together and the tear dividing them into two zips closed.

LeLe lets out a little squeak of surprise and takes a step back.

Look, there’s magic and then there’s magic . This is the second kind. Whatever is going on, it isn’t witch-related.

Both of us turn and look at Eustis. Not surprisingly, there isn’t a hint of the smell of magic in the air, which is always left behind after a witch’s spell. Instead, the room smells of old books, worn leather, and the sweet vanilla tobacco scent of the old man’s pipe.

He shrugs his bony shoulders. “The house doesn’t like anyone messing with its decor or room assignments.”

And that explains it. The adrenaline pumping through my veins slows down, and LeLe lets out a surprised breath. The Strawbery Banke Inn is a sentient house.

They aren’t common, but there are at least a hundred or so in Witchingdom.

The good news is they’re friendly. The bad news is they’re stubborn, which means whenever a sentient house takes a curiosity about you, your life is about to get more interesting.

And, as the whole bed thing just demonstrated, there isn’t any point in working my magic while we’re on the property, because just like in Vegas, the house always wins.

Something that LeLe isn’t ready to accept, going by the determined tilt of her chin.

“Can I talk to the house?” she asks, as if the answer of yes is a foregone conclusion.

Eustis hooks his thumbs into the straps of his denim overalls and rocks back and forth on his heels. “It’s asleep.”

She scoffs. “But it still makes the bed go back together?”

Yeah, even for a sentient house that seems like a reach.

Eustis grins, totally unfazed by being caught in what has to be a bald-faced lie. “It’s a funny house.”