Page 6

Annabelle dropped her bag to the floor, slammed her apartment door behind her, and leaned up against it.

What the hell had she done? Resisting Gabriel was going to be so much harder now she’d had a reminder of how explosive it was between the two of them.

In the intervening years since Paris, she’d single-mindedly worked on erasing the feel of his hands on her body, his kisses, his musky scent and the way she came undone in his arms. She’d thought she’d succeeded, but one look at him in the High Priestess’ office, one swipe of his tongue against hers and one grind of his hips pressing his thick length against her core, and she was back in Paris where they’d spent more time having sex than eating. And they’d spent a lot of time eating.

She let her head thump back against the door. Damn my stupid body. And damn him. Why, of all the Langeais shifters, did it have to be him they’d sent?

Isobella, her flatmate and stepsister, poked her head into the hall. “Are you okay?”

Annabelle groaned. Am I okay ? She was going to have to be.

“What did the High Priestess want?” Isobella folded her arms across her chest, a defensive measure Annabelle recognized.

Though Isobella showed remarkable promise with her magic, her family had not been prominent in their coven.

Not until Isobella’s father had married Annabelle’s mother a few years ago.

Being married into the Jackson family had elevated their status right to the top.

But years of conditioning was hard to undo, and the whispers through the coven were hard to ignore.

So it was always High Priestess, and never Aunt Marjory, with Isobella.

To be fair, it wasn’t all in Isobella’s head.

Coven politics could be brutal. Some families were always vying for control, like the Kings and their cronies, and they’d seen the marriage as a grab for power by the Rodriguez family.

Not even Annabelle and her mother taking on the Rodriguez name had managed to quash that.

Annabelle couldn’t care less what the Kings thought.

But Isobella did. Annabelle had changed her name for her.

Annabelle pushed herself off the door. “I have a new task.”

“To do with all that research you’ve been doing?”

Annabelle nodded. “Yeah.”

Wariness descended over Isobella’s features. “She wants you to be the one to go back in time, doesn’t she?”

Annabelle picked up her bag. “Would you rather it be Dutton? Because he wanted it to be him.”

Isobella screwed up her nose.

“My thoughts exactly. Don’t worry, Isobella,” she said, patting her sister on the shoulder.

“I’ll be fine. We’ve got two wolf shifters from France who”—she hooked two fingers in the air like imaginary quotation marks—“apparently have knowledge of the time I’m to go back to.

I wanted to be the one to take on this task.

I just didn’t expect I’d be going as far back as the tenth century. ”

“The tenth century?”

Isobella’s unease matched her own. The mission was always going to be dangerous.

Being a witch in medieval Europe wasn’t an enviable position.

Being a twenty-first century witch in medieval Europe meant there were so many more ways she could make a mistake and become one of the accused, one of thousands of women who’d died.

But the tenth century was an unknown quantity.

No witch trials. That was a bonus. But what would she be facing?

A plague? Wars? She hadn’t done any research that far back, and didn’t have a clue what to expect?

Could she trust Gabriel to prepare her for it?

And why were he and Stefanie really here?

Sure, their pack had a connection to this bishop—and not in a good way—but was there more to it than that? What was it they weren’t telling them?

Maybe someone else should go, someone with no history with the enigmatic shifter, but they weren’t flush with choices.

Dutton was the obvious one, but there was no way her aunt would give Dutton an opportunity like this.

Not if she didn’t want to give his family any more influence within the coven than they already had.

There was Douglas, but recent events would sway the decision against him.

That Isobella now lived with Annabelle, that Douglas had dumped her in favor of his bit on the side—a witch from the King family—said everything.

Her aunt would always back her family, including those added to it through marriage.

And there was not a chance in hell they’d trust anyone with a connection to the King family, no matter how fleeting it might be.

Dutton and Douglas. Two dickheads with a capital D.

There were a few other witches, one or two warlocks, but their loyalties were untested. No. She was the best person to go.

Annabelle followed Isobella into the living area, the scent of pine and fresh earth hitting her. She froze in the doorway. “What’s all this?”

She knew what it was. She just couldn’t believe it was in her apartment. In the corner, by the window, sat a Christmas tree in a pot, a length of red tinsel winding around it and clinging to its needles. Boxes of unopened ornaments in bright colors littered the floor.

Isobella shrugged. “I know. It’s weird for witches to celebrate Christmas, but it was something my mother always did.

She liked the decorations, the spirit of family get-togethers.

” Isobella held up a shoebox with the word Paris scrawled across it in black marker.

“And I found these behind some towels in the linen closet.” “I figured your family was the same, too. I mean, the High Priestess has a tree in her office…”

Her voice trailed off as Annabelle stared transfixed at the box in Isobella’s hands.

Too beautiful to throw out, and yet too painful to look at, she’d packed the delicate, hand-carved Christmas ornaments she’d bought with Gabriel in an old shoe box and shoved them to the back of the linen closet.

There they’d sat for three years, undisturbed, but never forgotten.

She’d never had a Christmas tree in her entire life.

Not until Christmas in Paris. Not until Gabriel.

She’d gotten caught up in the festivity of it all.

The snow, the lights and trawling the Christmas markets with Gabriel by her side.

Then he’d left her, and she’d never had one since.

“Annabelle? I just thought… Douglas always humored me and got me a Christmas tree, and when I found these ornaments, I guess I thought…”

Annabelle shook herself and pasted a smile on her face.

“Nice tree. Thanks. At least the neighbors will think we’re normal, now.

I’m going to have a shower.” She needed to wash away the feel of Gabriel’s hands and mouth on her body.

Maybe then she could get back some of her equilibrium.

Enough so she could face seeing a Christmas tree in her living room.

So her heart wouldn’t break all over again every time she glimpsed one of those ornaments.

“I can’t be stuffed cooking tonight. Let’s order pizza, hey? ”

“Sure.” Isobella gave her a wan smile, and not for the first time Annabelle considered coming up with a spell to give Douglas weeping sores on his dick.

See if Irena King liked him so much then.

At the very least, it might make her think twice about stealing someone else’s fiancée.

As far as Annabelle was concerned, Douglas and Irena deserved each other.

Annabelle grabbed her backpack and headed for her room.

Let Isobella have her Christmas tree. Annabelle would deal with it.

A couple of to-die-for pizzas from Lenni’s on the corner, a few glasses of wine and an action flick would get both her and Isobella’s minds off their douchebag exes.

The last thing Isobella needed was to dwell on losing Douglas. The guy wasn’t worth it.

* * * *

Annabelle stepped under the shower, letting the hot water sluice over her body.

She might wash away his scent and the evidence of her orgasm, but nothing was going to banish the craving, the unquenchable need he’d reignited in her.

She soaped lavender body wash over breasts and her nipples hardened, desperate for any touch.

Annabelle paused, then slipped her hand over her stomach.

Lower still, until her fingers were sliding through her folds.

She shivered and braced herself against the shower screen.

Her questing fingers found her aching clit, swollen and sensitive.

She flicked across it, swirled her finger around it.

Annabelle closed her eyes and clenched her bottom lip between her teeth.

That’s it, Belle, pleasure yourself for me. Show me how you like it.

Goosebumps prickled along her arms. Even in her head, as nothing more than a memory, Gabriel’s voice had power over her body.

Her hand sped up, pressing harder as she imagined it was his hand, his fingers.

She slipped one inside herself, dropping her head with a muffled moan as her pussy gripped it tight.

If only it was his finger, or better yet, his cock.

So wet for me, bebe.

Gabriel smiled. That sexy smile he did when he had her just where he wanted her, when he knew she was close.

I’m going to spin you around and fill you with my cock.

Annabelle quivered. So close.

I’m going to bend you over and fuck you hard.

In her mind’s eye, he slid his cock inside her, filling her, sliding in and out.

In and out. Eyes squeezed shut, her hand rubbing at her clit furiously, she envisioned his hard, muscled body slick with soap, pumping her from behind.

Her lungs seized and her orgasm rocketed through her, and she arched her back and clamped her jaw closed, lest she scream louder than a rabid fan at the Super Bowl.