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Sexy Witch Romance!

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DarkTremorP2

Chapter 1

 

Let’s see what this baby can do. Jace revved the custom engine of his new ATV and grinned. The desert whirled by at 100 mph, he caught some air, and flew.

“Fuck yeah!” What a rush. Better than winning at the tables last night.

Back teeth chomped together when all four wheels landed. He turned the wheel in the opposite direction, rotated his wrists, and his ride sped forward. Sweeeeet. Ahead lay nothing but blue sky, a couple cactus, and a lot of empty miles.

Above him a falcon circled, then swooped low. He only took his eyes off the terrain for a moment, but when he looked back, his vehicle rocketed, full speed towards a woman’s small form. With only a couple feet to spare, he cranked the wheel and held his breath.

Shit. Where the hell had she come from?

With each turn of the deathly merry-go-round, a huge boulder grew closer. Time stood still. Impact imminent. As he spun out, he swore a fissure ripped through the surface of the desert and the mammoth rock sank halfway into the riverbed.

What the fuck?

Another turn.

The blob disappeared.

His right front wheel hit something solid, and he flipped, and rolled. A sickening crunch, followed by an odd silence except for the spinning of tires.

With some effort, he unclenched his jaw and took a deep breath. The sharp edges of the harness dug into his neck and the sky stood where the ground should be. But he was alive.

Upside down, a woman, no, the woman who’d just caused this disaster, peered down, or rather up, and said, “Are you okay?”

“Hell, no. I’m not okay, lady. Look at my ATV.” What a stupid question. Adrenaline raced through his veins, needing an outlet.

Her face-load of attitude and army-surplus attire was covered in dust. “Listen to me, asshole. I don’t give a shit about your vehicle. Were you hurt?”

He wiggled his toes. Good.

Fingers. Good.

Hanging like a bat, he wedged his legs and released his harness. The world righted itself when he jumped onto all fours and crawled out of the wreckage onto the still cool sand of the morning.

“What the hell were you doing out there? I could’ve killed you.” His hand came back bloody when he rubbed above his right eye.

“Me?” Her dirty brows furrowed. Blue eyes glared, white teeth showed, and no doubt, sharp claws hid inside the oversized jacket. “Didn’t you see the no trespassing signs?”

“There weren’t any signs,” he growled, rolling his shoulders. A wave of nausea washed over him and his vision went foggy. He gripped the side of the ATV to keep from tumbling forward.

She rolled her eyes. “You are hurt. Follow me.”

A sweet little ass turned and walked towards a nearby hill.

Before following, he tried to clear his thoughts and recall the sequence of events.

Woman. Bolder. And…earthquake? Sure enough. He hadn’t imagined the two foot gash that zig-zagged across the river bed. What were the odds?

Slim to none.

Suspicious, he followed her up a steep hill, and through the glassed in front wall of some kind of cave dwelling. Figures. The badger had a burrow.

“You live in a cave?”

“Earthship. Entirely eco-friendly.” She pointed to a ladder-back chair and threw him a roll of paper towels. “Sit and try not to bleed on anything. Give me a sec’ to clean up.”

While water ran from behind the bathroom door, he pulled off a wad of paper towels, and pressed it to one eye. With the other, he made a quick assessment of her space. Cheap, but sparkling appliances lined one wall.  On the other side of the island that divided the open space, a lumpy couch faced a fourteen-inch screen.

Above, a wood railing circled a loft with a low bed.

He jumped when an orange tabby landed on the large antique table in front of the glass wall. It padded around a short wave radio, and a laptop, making a dreadful meowing sound. It sat down next to a pile of rough, blue stones.

Jace picked one up and whistled through his teeth.

Turquoise. Beautifully veined. And not from a mine he recognized. Probably worth a small fortune.

Wet-faced, she dashed out of the bathroom with a towel around her neck. “Put that down.”

The gem fell from his hand and his mouth dropped open. Holy hell.

Her newly scrubbed face revealed a pert nose and wide kissable lips, framed by long dark-blonde hair. But it was the damp, white t-shirt, worn without a bra, leaving little to the imagination that had his cock standing at attention.

When she caught him staring, she turned bright red, and grabbed a sweatshirt off a chair. It was too late. His dick knew what it saw–and it wanted it.

Bustling across the room, she struggled with her zipper while trying to balance a first aid kit under her arm.

“I said not to touch anything.” She picked up the stone and put it back in the pile.

“Sorry.” Arms raised, he stepped away, but couldn’t hide the widening smirk.

“Sit down and I’ll clean your cut.” Small palms pushed at his chest, ineffectively, but remained, as if glued. She stared, stunned.

The energy pulsing into him made his knees weak.

No. No. No. Hell, no. He’d only felt that once before in his life and he wasn’t about to do that again.

When he jumped back, she beat him to the punch line. “That is so not going to happen. Understood?”

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“Sit, before you fall down.” Her hands trembled as she snapped open the old metal first aid kit and searched the bins.

Sitting, in one of two chairs, he noticed that there was two of everything. “So, you married?”

“None of your business. Close your eyes. This is going to sting.” She pressed an antiseptic pad against the cut on his forehead.

“Owe. Damn. Stop that.”

Without thinking, he grabbed her hand and bam. There it was again. No denying it. She was a witch, and a powerful one at that. She’d probably be a perfect match for him, if he was looking for a mate. Which he damn well was not.

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Help Me Find A Title

Year of our Lord 1283
England

A naked goddess, she arose from the top pool in the Roman bathhouse. A Venus in a fountain, her melon breasts dripped with water and rosy nipples pointed where they met the cooler air. She took a linen from the ancient mosaic floor and dried herself inch by inch with her eyes closed.

From the bottom tier, hid safely behind one of the thick marble columns, Sir Thomas D’Agostine could not make his legs move, nor divert his eyes. He hoped it was of him his lady dreamed as she touched herself. Did she remember her promises to him?

The lady Meredith, with lips the shade of poppies in spring, pouted, and let the towel drop from between her legs. Her gray eyes, that he’d once known so well, lowered towards the pile of clothing that lay beside her feet. Look up.

One thick lock of burnished gold hair escaped the mass tied to her head. The length twisted past a full breast, beyond her navel, and just above a thatch of curly hair. There, he had almost known her. Would she take him back? She’d haunted every one of his dreams, followed him like a wraith from London, to France, to Italy, the Holy Lands, and by God, back again. She would marry him. This time he would insist. He cleared his throat and stood out in the open, on the lowest tier of bricks.

Eyes wide, her mouth dropped open, and she screeched with hands covering her nakedness. “Thomas? Is that you? Haunt me not. Be gone. Damn you.”
He put melody to one of the hundreds of poems he had composed as his lower appendage swelled for her. “Merry, Merry. So very ever fair-ye.”
“Good heavenly Father above. Now it sings?” She picked up a scrubbing brush lying beside a pile of her clothing. Fire from the hearth reflected red into her crazed eyes.

Jumping up three stairs, he stood at the second tier of pools. Water gurgled from the top tier and dribbled out the other side to the bottom in perfect harmony, granting him the peace he needed to continue. He opened his arms wide with his best smile. “Nay a ghost, love. I have come back for you.”

A small nugget of soap whizzed by and would have grazed a cheek had he not stepped aside. She dropped to her knees with what he thought was a prayer, jostled in her belongings and rose with the vicious edge of a dagger. She hissed and jabbed in his direction. “Nay. Be gone ghost. You cannot be you. They said you were dead.”

“They? Who are these they, dearest? There is only I, your love. I have come back for you.” He jumped up three more stairs until only an arm’s length separated them and reached with palms up.

With her un-daggered hand, she finger-poked at him and her gray eyes went wider still when she hit the mail under his tunic. She paled. “Why did you never send word? Did you eat all your pigeons? Your messengers all up and died? It matters not. You cannot be here. You’ll ruin all I have planned. Go away and remain dead.”

He inched forward and the sweet smell of lavender lay siege upon his already assaulted senses. His already thick lance swelled under his tunic and fought forward to find a sweeter sheath. “Dead? No, not dead, love. Wed. A better option. Besides, how can I remain dead when I have never yet visited in that holy place?”

“Holy place? Nay, Sir Thomas. You’ll be dancing with the king of darkness by tonight, if I have any say.”

The love of his life lunged at him with her dagger, he twisted, and she splashed into the baths. She came up for air with long angry snake-like locks surrounding her head.

He squatted and pushed the top of her head under the water. “Drop the dagger.”

When blade drifted to the bottom of the pool, he let go. An angry maiden with a sharp object was not of his liking. Whatever happened to the giggling maid he had all but bedded five years ago? Who was this cantankerous creature? Where was his merry maid? His Merry of all days? Merry, lovely, Merry who had laughed at every one of his jests. She’d claimed the sun rose and set on his bidding.

For years he had dreamed how he would twist these golden locks between his fingers. But not thus. Oh no, but to them to bring close her lovely lips and claim them until she moaned and begged. Only then, would he thrust and pump and lay back spent. Gird up your loins, sir jester-knight of lost loves, life is full of disappointments.

It was then he noticed a boy of about five seasons wielding a sword half his size. The warrior with dark locks, dark eyes, and tiny penis, charged up the stairs with his sword steady. A good lad. “Let go of my Mama, you horse’s arse.”

Mother? So that was it? Five years of longing twisted his gut into a knot. She must’ve married another before he’d even set sail for France. Thomas howled within. “Now you work with your legs open, you, you, Magdalene?”

“What? How dare you? I’m no harlot.” She clawed her nails down the center of his face. The bloody wounds could not match the one tearing at his heart. He strode out, and swore when a brick of soap struck the back of his head.

“He is your son, you dolt.” Her words were plain as the unique shape of the boy’s nose. Thomas turned, put a hand to the rising bump on his daft noggin, and for the first time in his life, could find naught to say.

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