Page 41 of Witchy Woman

He really is a beautiful man. Devastatingly so.

“Hey, Goldilocks. How are you?”

I shrug, little lightning shocks going up and down my back in rhythm with his fingertips. “Rough day.”

His nose nuzzles against mine. “Mm. What can I do for you?”

I have an entire damn list of things he could do for me. To me. It’s not fair to go there without talking about it, and I don’t want to be cruel.

I’ve been cruel enough today.

“Can we drink and not talk about anything serious? And then fall asleep?” I ask, digging my fingers into his shoulders.

His mouth lifts in a smile. “Yeah, we can do that.”

“We’re goingto take turns guessing something about the other person, and if you’re wrong then you drink. If you’re right, the other person drinks,” I explain as Ash hands me a glass of wine. I frown at it. “Nothing stronger?”

“Trust me, you’ll be wrong enough that you’ll still get drunk,” he quips, sitting on the other end of the couch from me with his beer.

I huff. “Yeah, but wine-drunk is different. Wine-drunk is sad and headachey and hangover city. Don’t you have vodka or tequila or something?”

“You really think tequila is going to give you a better hangover tomorrow?”

“No, but I’ll be so drunk I won’t care.”

“Luckily for you, I don’t have tequila. Your choices are whisky, beer, and wine.”

“I’m surprised it’s not moonshine.”

“Make your first guess, Goldilocks,” he says instead of continuing the banter. Rude.

Hmm. What do I think I know about this man?

“I’m guessing the last musical artist you listened to wears a lot of flannel.”

“You’re right, actually. It was Hozier. Specifically the song ‘Sunlight.’” He tips the beer bottle back, exposing the long line of his neck as he drinks. Who knew necks could be sexy?

I clear my throat. “Surprisingly good taste. What draws you to him?”

The moment his eyes darken, I regret asking. “The man knows about worshiping a woman. He doesn’t sing about cutesy crushes, he sings about all-encompassing love. The kind of love you drown in. The kind of love that burns you alive.”

I’m speechless. The urge to crawl back into his lap is almost too much, but somehow I resist.

“I guess that your favorite color is dark red. Blood red,” he says, his voice lowered and soft. Enticing.

“Not pink?”

“Not pink. Youlikepink, don’t get me wrong, and you don’t mind letting other people think it’s pink. But even if it’s not red, it’s not pink.”

Without answering verbally, I sip the wine. It’s sweet, but not ridiculously so. Dark chocolatey and warm in a way that fits this warm home. This warm environment he’s created.

He relaxes back into the corner of the off-white couch with a cocky smile. He’s entirely too proud of himself and it makes me want to beat him.

I play with the rim of my glass. “I guess that you love all animals but are more of a dog person.”

He tips his head. “We already talked about this, Goldilocks.”

“I didn’t agree not to cheat.”