Page 15 of Season of the Witch (Toil and Trouble #3)

nine

The curse of partial memory loss, aside from the obvious, was that when Henry said it was the hardest night of his life, it didn’t really mean much.

The condoms had been only the start—and thank you, Mom, for that surprise.

He doubted sleeping in the same bed with an attractive woman would’ve ever been easy, but Tia apparently preferred sleeping in shorts and silky tops that barely covered her breasts and showed off acres of touchable, lickable skin.

He was pretty sure he’d stopped breathing when she’d stepped out of the bathroom, her scowl warning him not to joke.

He hadn’t been able to think, let alone speak as she’d slipped in next to him.

But not before she’d summoned a shimmering energy wall down the center of the bed.

“So you don’t get any ideas if you get scared in the night,” she’d said with a smirk before using telekinesis to switch off the light.

Like that helped stop his fantasies. It was a big bed. Lots of mattress. And Tia, she’d be wild. He didn’t need his memories to know that.

That thought hadn’t helped him sleep.

Which was why he used his morning shower to take care of it, gripping his cock while picturing her delicate fingers, her red lips whispering in his ear all the dirty things she wanted to do to him.

His groan was drowned out by the showerheads and he felt like a lust-soaked teenager as he toweled himself afterward.

Maybe it was always like this between them.

He made a note to ask and grinned as he imagined her expression.

Steam curled out after him as he emerged from the bathroom to find her sitting cross-legged on the bed with her phone in her hand.

“You shower like a girl,” she grumbled, not taking her eyes off the screen. “What are you even doing in there that takes that long?”

Ridiculously, he felt his ears heat. He hadn’t even known that was a thing.

He hid the embarrassment behind a wall of confidence, sauntering to the bed and flopping down backward so his head was in her lap. She squawked as he grinned up at her. “I could always use company.”

She shoved him off her lap so hard his head bounced. “You have two hands.”

Ah. Irony.

He crossed those hands behind his head. “What’re you looking at?”

Her gaze flicked up, then to his arms where they lingered before she fixed her eyes down again. “Just checking in.”

“Right. Guess I should, too.”

A smirk lifted her lips. “Maybelline will want to know how it’s going.”

He cringed. “I swear I had no idea.”

“Mmm.” She lowered her phone to her jean-covered lap. Her sweater was plunging, a blue-green color that brought out the flecks in her eyes. “Well, it’s only a month and you’ll be back with your harem. You can put them to good use then.”

“My harem?” News to him. He’d asked around and nobody remembered anyone significant since Tia.

“All the witches that parade around on your arm like they’ve caught a prize fish.” She wrinkled her nose and slid off the bed. “The bonus of being part of a Legacy family, I guess. For you anyway.”

“Not you?” He watched as she inspected her hair in the mirror. Watched and didn’t lower his gaze to her perfect curved ass. Not for more than a second anyway. “Warlocks don’t parade you around? Is your family not as big a deal?”

Her body stiffened and she whirled on him with clenched fists. “We’re just as good as the Pearlmatters.”

He blinked. “I didn’t mean—”

“Hightowers go back generations, producing top-tier witches and warlocks. We’ve always been first pick when society is looking for a match. Any warlock would be thrilled to have me.”

He sensed he’d stepped on sensitive ground. “I know.”

“Just because my family has a hard-on for your bloodline doesn’t mean we’re desperate.”

“I know.”

“My mom is just really intense about it all. But hooking me up with you is only one of the options we have. You would be so lucky to have another shot.”

He’d started to sweat. “I know.”

She didn’t look like she believed him.

“My dad wouldn’t merge with any old family,” he added, grasping at straws to make that expression disappear. “And my mom wouldn’t be throwing condoms like confetti if she didn’t approve.”

That got him a twitch of the lips, like she badly wanted to smile and refused to.

It cheered him. “And if I spent years with you passionately lusting after me, I obviously thought you were worth it.”

He’d meant to make her roll her eyes. Instead, a shadow crossed them.

Before he could push, she tucked her cell into her back pocket. “So, breakfast,” she said, as if the conversation hadn’t happened. “I figured we’d go down, hand in hand, make with the nice and then hit him with the business.”

After a drawn-out beat of hesitation, he decided to let it be. He’d think about that shadow later. “All right.”

“Let me take point. I know more about the potions side, especially since you, you know, forgot it all.”

“All right.”

“And don’t go overboard on the touching.” She narrowed her eyes at his sudden grin. “I mean it. We are not that honeymoon couple who get down and dirty in an elevator. Be professional.”

He tucked his tongue in his cheek. “But what if I don’t remember how to be?” When her expression tightened, he smothered a laugh. “All right, all right. Minimal touching. That it?”

She folded her arms beneath her breasts. The neckline shifted and it was a struggle not to let his eyes drift. “You’re being damn agreeable.”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

This woman. He let the laugh roll out this time and sat up, moving off the bed toward the door.

He didn’t bother to grab his cell since he had no idea what to say to some of the friends messaging him anyway.

“Guess you’ll learn of my dastardly plans later.

” He reached for the door and managed to open it about two inches before a blast of pressure slammed it closed.

When he turned, Tia was storming up to him, a finger out and jabbing into his chest. “You will take this seriously, Pearlmatter,” she warned. This close, her perfume whirled around him, notes of some kind of spice and, oddly, vanilla. “A lot is riding on this.”

“Damn, it is? ’Cause you only told me five thousand times.” He closed his hand around her finger. “I get it, okay. Trust me.”

She was relatively tall, her silver heels lifting her close enough he saw the doubt that flickered in her eyes. He was surprised that it pinched.

“Let’s just do this,” she muttered, pulling her finger free and reaching for the door.

As Primm had promised, a locator cloud hovered outside, whirling lazily in a puff of petal-pink smoke. Locator clouds were potion-based creations with one function, generally only coded with a few phrases. When Tia asked for the breakfast room, it drifted down the hall immediately.

Henry fell into step beside Tia as they trudged down corridors lined with paintings decorated with tinsel and strings of baubles. The runner was ancient and thin, covering creaking floorboards, other doors shut tight as they passed. It was quiet; the only sounds those of the morning outside.

“What do you think Lady Siddeley’s like?” he murmured to Tia as they navigated downstairs to the main foyer he recognized from last night. The eight-foot Christmas tree covered in sparkling lights was a giveaway.

“I did some research.” She shrugged as they turned left. “Less on the London society scene for the last twenty years but a grande dame for sure. Gossip pages say she can make or break a witch with a few words, and her opinion is sought after. In a word, she’s Maybelline. But English.”

“Then we shouldn’t have anything to worry about.” Unless she, too, passed condoms around like party favors.

The cloud crossed through an open door. Sound filtered out, the clink of cutlery and the quiet hum of conversation.

He offered his hand. “Showtime?”

He caught the small hesitation before she nodded. “Curtain up.”

Palm to palm, they entered the breakfast room—and halted.

The room was long, dominated by a dark table that could easily seat twenty, a chandelier arching above while breakfast trays lined tables set against the wall.

The Christmas decorations, at this point, were predictable, bordering on garish as they wound their way toward two French doors.

Weak sunlight danced across the multiple heads that turned their way.

He’d expected Siddeley, maybe his mom. He hadn’t expected the five others around the table, or the man at the buffet holding silver tongs.

Siddeley sat at the head of the table, but rose as he caught sight of them. “Finally!” he rumbled with excitement, dressed in beige pants, a shirt, an ascot and a muted green padded vest. “I was beginning to wonder if you lovebirds were ever going to emerge from your room.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Tia blanch.

But Siddeley wasn’t done. “No matter, no matter,” he continued as he strode around the table. “It’s a holiday, after all! But now you’re here, our party is complete and we can get started.”

“Party?” Tia asked, her smile forced.

“The house party.”

“Oh.” She looked a little lost for words. “I didn’t realize… Are these your family?”

A laugh spilled from Siddeley and he clapped a hand on the back of a chair. “While I think of guests as family, these are just my victims for the winter extravaganza, same as you, Lady Hightower.”

A man lounging in a chair, an empty plate in front of him and a coffee cup in hand, drawled, “Hardly unwilling victims, Archie.” His accent was polished elegance. Another Brit.

Siddeley’s smile was broad. “True, true. And it’s my hope you all have such a marvelous time that you’ll forgive me for making you trek out here.”

Maybe it was the memory loss, the time difference, or that he was operating on very little sleep, but Henry was lost. “These are…other guests?” he posed.

“Quite so, Lord Pearlmatter. Let me introduce you.” Siddeley indicated the lounging man first. “Theodore Sawyer, a warlock who works in magical confectionary.”

“Pleasure,” the blue-eyed blond murmured, a dimple creasing his tanned cheek. Siddeley hadn’t added a Lord in his introduction, which meant the warlock wasn’t Higher society. That he’d been invited meant his business must be booming.

Henry nodded at him.

Siddeley waved at the Black man next to Sawyer. “Kingsley Chrichton.”

Tia started. “As in Chrichton cauldrons?”

The warlock’s smile was slow. “That’s right.” He was British, too, and, like Sawyer, dressed in tailored pants and a sweater.

Siddeley turned to the other side of the table. “Lady Annaliese Fairweather. Her family has patented a few hundred spells.”

“Hi.” The redhead nodded, light gleaming over the dozen barely-visible freckles splattered across her fair skin.

Henry was getting the kind of feeling that begged for a life preserver as Siddeley indicated the next witch. “Lady Romina Lopez, inventor extraordinaire.”

“You flatter me, Archie. And please, call me Mina,” the gorgeous woman with tan skin and brown eyes invited, a hint of a Spanish accent curling around the words.

All eyes turned to the final man by the buffet. Siddeley beamed. “And the warlock unable to separate from his bacon is Lord Griffith Zhang.”

Unrepentant, the man selected a slice from his plate and bit in.

“You can’t blame me, Archie,” he joked in an Upper East Side accent after he’d swallowed.

“And to finish his spiel, my company works in potion research. But you already know that.” His gaze was amused as it shifted to their joined hands.

“Not only the companies merging, I see.”

Dread came at Henry like a pillow intent on suffocation. Griffith Zhang knew them. Knew them well enough to make Tia’s color rise. Henry tightened his hand on hers as she tensed.

She gave Griffith a sickly sweet smile. “You want to watch the bacon, Griffith. Wouldn’t want you to choke and die.”

The warlock grinned.

Siddeley faltered, but soldiered on. “Good, well, no need for introductions for you, then, but to the rest, this is Lord Henry Pearlmatter and Lady Tia Hightower, whose family companies have just merged. They work on potions and numerous other projects. And that concludes our party!” He smoothed a hand down his ascot, which Henry noted was Christmas green and stitched with snowflakes.

“And Mother, of course, but she, ah, wanted to take tea in her own suite today.” He looked shamefaced for a minute before clapping his hands.

“Anyway, sit, sit. Or fetch some breakfast and then sit. I have so much planned and you’ll need your strength. ”

No kidding. Henry met Tia’s eyes. This wasn’t a party. There were five other businessmen and women in the room, all who’d kill for an investment of Siddeley’s magnitude. He was Santa Claus and they were all desperate to get on the nice list.

Tia’s chin jutted up and danger glowed in her eyes as she locked on to her targets.

No, this wasn’t a party. This was war.