Free Witchy Woman by Karen Leabo Page A

notebook from her. She hadn’t opened it yet.
    All at once a strange light came into her eyes. She frowned as her gaze became unfocused. Then she flashed him an angry scowl, and he could have sworn he saw blue sparks coming from her eyes.
    She threw the notebook onto the table. “You son of a bitch!”
    “What? Excuse me?” What had he done?
    “You’re using me. I trusted you. I was pouring my heart out to you, and the whole time all you want is to write a story about me. It was all a lie—all of it!”

FIVE
    Tess had to get out of there. She rarely got angry, but when she did, her temper could boil over into rage, and Lord help whoever was in her path. She didn’t trust herself to be logical or reasonable until the anger had run itself out; the best course of action was to get away from Nate and reclaim her precious solitude till she felt in control again.
    “How did you know that?” Nate asked, sounding more bewildered than defensive. “How did you know I was planning to write a story about you?”
    She narrowed her blue eyes and held up her hands in a classic spell-casting pose, like the Wicked Witch of the West. “My boogie-woogie witchy powers, how else? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to catch a cab home. I have to feed my black cat and brew up some eye-of-newt tea!” She grabbed her purse and headed for the door.
    Nate was right behind her. “Wait, you can’t go!”
    “Why not?” She jerked the door open and stepped onto the landing.
    “You’re going to leave me alone with a cursed cat statue in my trunk?”
    That gave her pause. Much as she wanted to see the last of Nate Wagner, she
had
gotten him involved in the cat thing. The beast was still in his trunk, and he didn’t take the threat seriously. What if something happened to him, something worse than a scratch or an uncomfortable brush with a subway?
    Okay. If she were honest, she would have to admit that she really didn’t want to see the last of him, either. He was a most intriguing man, the first ever to touch her without making her skin crawl.
    She folded her arms and looked at him mutinously. No sense in letting him off easy. “You lied to me.”
    He conceded with a nod. “If I’d come right up to you and asked to write a story about Moonbeam Majick, what would you have said?”
    “I’d have run as far and as fast as I could.”
    “I figured that. I thought if you could get to know me first, trust me a little bit, then I could ease into the subject of your past.”
    “And if I still was against it?” When he didn’t respond right away, Tess discovered she was waiting breathlessly for his answer.
    Finally he said, “I don’t honestly know. I’d like to believe I would have honored your wishes. I can be a hard-ass sometimes, but I’m not ruthless.”
    Did she dare believe him? Or was this just another cramping of the truth to manipulate her? Then it occurredto her that she didn’t have to guess. She had a foolproof method of discovering his true intentions, even if he didn’t know the truth himself. “Give me your hand.”
    “Huh?”
    “Just let me hold your hand for a moment.”
    “Okay.” He held out one hand, palm up, as if he expected her to read his fortune in the lines and creases there. Instead, she took his hand in both of hers, lightly touching it. She closed her eyes.
    Damn.
He was so sincere, it was astounding. He had no intention of doing anything that would harm her.
    “What are you doing?” he asked suspiciously.
    “Shh.” There it was again, that flash she’d experienced earlier, but it was stronger this time. Skin against skin, breathing, scents commingled, the hot touch of fevered fingers, questing, murmured lovers’ words—
    “What?” he asked more insistently this time.
    She gasped and dropped his hand as if it were a burning coal. Holy moth-eaten cod. The images were stronger now, more distinct, too real to be dismissed as the frustrated yearnings of an overripe virgin. She and Nate