Free Sex and the Psychic Witch by Annette Blair

she turned to see the piano keys moving, with no one playing. If Gussie was playing, the hopeful vibes were out of character. Yet Harmony believed the music was a sign that she should continue, that she was on the right track.
    She pushed furniture aside and slipped behind the tapestry, but she found no hidden latch, door, safe, staircase, or tunnel along its length, nothing but an oddly textured surface that reminded her of brushstrokes. Harmony pulled a corner of the tapestry aside to reveal a wall that looked like a dirty canvas, its vibes muted by a strong force.
    Gussie puzzled her almost as much as Paxton, the kick-ass kisser, who was returning now to get her.
    As Harmony combed her hair with her fingers, Paxton closed the distance between them, his thoughts focused on corn silk that smelled of peppermint—her hair! She felt his yearning and his dogged determination to ignore her from now on, though he’d slipped several sensational times.
    Aw, how nice. He thought she was sensational.
    In other circumstances, she’d work him hard, and he wouldn’t be able to ignore her. She liked her effect on him as much as he hated it, yet he kept returning for more. He believed he should have stayed on the construction site, yet he’d headed her way instead, annoyed with himself over his attraction and his weakness in following his sexual inclinations where she was concerned.
    Too bad she couldn’t tell him the truth, that when she fulfilled her purpose—whatever that was—their connection would be severed.
    A clock struck three, and she realized the day had passed too fast. She couldn’t possibly examine and evaluate the clothes in the cedar dressing room in one day, never mind in the rooms she hadn’t explored. Neither could she solve the puzzle of her psychic goal.
    The closer Paxton got, the stronger and deeper Gussie’s hatred became. For a minute Harmony hated him as well, but she fought the encroaching negative vibes.
    “Boy are you in trouble,” she said as Paxton came closer. “Gussie hates your guts. Did you know that?”
    “All my relatives hate my guts. Your point?”
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Chapter Ten
    DETERMINED to get Hellcat Harmony to hang around for a few extra hours, King followed her back through the tunnel toward its termination in the cedar dressing room.
    She’d had a nasty look on her face for him when he got to the parlor. Odd that. A few times today, she’d reminded him of a small wildcat—a lynx or a bobcat—graceful, beautiful, disarming, a feline who could close in with stealth and feed off you before you knew how deadly she was.
    She hadn’t felt deadly when he was driving himself crazy kissing her in the toy room. He’d disarmed her , not the other way around. Not that she’d fought him.
    Neither had she fought the sexual pull when she was bandaging his wound and frustrating the hell out of him with her teasing. Everything that happened between them this afternoon would make keeping her at a safe distance more difficult. But keeping his distance would be safer than the unwanted fantasy she inspired of the two of them together. Very together. Very bad.
    What they’d shared, which had seemed fine for a day out of time, now endangered the scheme forming in his mind. Okay, the scheme his men had just planted, and not gently, in his mind—damn them and damn her. But that arrangement would only work if he could keep his distance. Not easy when she could seduce him with a look.
    Before he took steps to put the scheme in motion, however, he needed to know the enigmatic interloper better, and the best way to do that would be to keep her around for a few more hours, after the crew left, no construction issues to distract them.
    Back in the dressing room, he gave her some space.
    “Something’s stuck in your craw,” she said. “You wanna tell me what?”
    “Your acuity is alarming, but if you must know, I almost did have a mutiny, because of your ghost stories. My workers all want to quit, and that’s