Free Total Rush by Deirdre Martin Page B

how natural, sharing her body with this man and now being led to her own bed. Hand in hand, they walked past the parade of stuffed animals, Sean pausing to pat the stuffed wildebeest on the head as if it were a faithful pet.
    â€œCan I stay the night?” he asked as they burrowed beneath the covers.
    Gemma nodded yes, burying her head in his neck. If she had her way, he’d never leave.
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    Sean didn ’ t believe in fate. Yet there was something magical in the way their bodies had so smoothly blended together, a sense that this was meant to be. How else to explain his need to seduce this woman so quickly?
    And she had a tattoo!
    â€œA symbol of the goddess,” she’d said. He knew a lot of women nowadays were into goddess worship. Not only had he read about it, but one of the guys he used to work with on Wall Street, Darryl Armbruster, was married to a woman who’d started out Catholic, gone Buddhist for a couple of years, and eventually wound up in some kind of all-girl coven. Armbruster used to bitch about coming home on the full moon to find his McMansion in Sommerville filled with chanting women. He glanced down at Gemma, who was sleeping peacefully. Could he picture her doing that? His gut tightened a little as he realized the answer was yes.
    He continued watching her, her breath coming in short little puffs, the tangled mop of red hair curling wildly around her face. He envied her ability to just drift off. His rumbling belly kept him awake. He decided to go make himself a snack.
    He gingerly slid out from between the sheets and made his way to the kitchen. He switched on the light, blinking against the momentary harshness. The feel of cold tile shocked the soles of his feet. Pretty weird standing naked in someone else’s kitchen, he thought. Gemma’s fridge held lots of salad and yogurt. He hated yogurt. Disappointed, he shut the door, and got a drink of water. Then he started opening cabinets, delighted to find Irish Breakfast tea among the boxes of herbal tea. A peek into the tiny pantry revealed a half-empty box of chocolate graham crackers just begging to be liberated. He put on her electric kettle. The appliance interested him; the only other person he knew to have one was his mother.
    Waiting for the water to boil, Sean took in his surroundings. Her kitchen was small, but clean. Bundles of dried herbs hung from the ceiling in a corner of the room, and on the kitchen table sat an unopened box from Amazon. com. Curiosity drove him to check out the other bedroom. Turning on the light, he saw the room was basically bare, apart from an odd little table at its center and a bunch of giant candlesticks. Drawing close to the table, he saw a goblet, a white-handled knife, and a small bowl filled with ashes. There were also fresh flowers, two candles, and an old cracked, five-pointed star. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands. He’d seen these stars before. They had to do with heavy metal music or Satanism, he thought to himself grimly. Mildly perturbed, he tossed the star back onto the small table. What was the deal with the white-handled knife? The kettle buzzed and he jumped.
    â€œSean?”
    He’d woken her up.
    â€œJust making some tea,” he called out. He turned off the kettle and poured the hot water into the cup. His chest now felt tight with anxiety. Between the vegetarianism, the herbs, and now this, he was having a hard time picturing Gemma hanging out with his friends. She just didn’t fit in. Not only that, but she owned her own business. Were he still a stockbroker, it wouldn’t be a problem. But some of the guys at the firehouse could be real pricks about this stuff. He could hear it already: You pussy-whipped, Kennealy? Does she give you an allowance? She your sugar mama or what?
    â€œCan you bring me some, too?” Gemma called.
    â€œSure,” he replied, forcing himself to sound calm.
    â€œBengal spice,