Page 6 of Witchy Woman

She leaves in a flourish of her dress, headed toward a flock of muumuu-wearing witches. I wrinkle my nose. Definitely not my style.

I pull one of the floral plates out, determined to organize crystals into a beautiful display, when I catch the gaze of a guy. A reasonably attractive guy, if I’m honest. Tall, blonde, fit.

But he’s not Ash.

And apparently since I found my stupid soulmate, the thought of even kissing another guy makes me want to fucking barf.

Dating was one of my favorite activities. I loved the instant endorphin rush from meeting someone new, and the flame of chemistry was addicting. It may have burned bright and quick, but it was fun.

And I never wanted more than that. I never wanted to run the risk of suffering with the pain my mother did.

Stupid. Fucking. Soulmates.

I slam a crystal down a little too hard, the cracklingclinkagainst the plate jarring the relative silence of my small booth. I cringe. I’m trying to avoid bringing attention to myself, not plaster a neon sign over my head that says, ‘Look at this stupid bitch.’

“Do you need help?” a masculine voice asks. I turn to find the guy—the perfectly attractive but totally barf-worthy guy—I made eye contact with. He’s smiling at me with amusement and it’s just...ick.

“No—” I start, but am interrupted by a deliciously large brute of a lumberjack wedging his way between me and the mystery man, his back to me so I can’t see the expression on his face.

“She’s fine. Move along,” Ash Cedar says, voice booming with authority and no small amount of possessiveness.

My knees wobble as I have to physically restrain myself from melting into his back. Even that was hot, and isn’t that frustrating?

The other man doesn’t bother replying before he scampers away. Or at least, I assume he scampers based on the sound of shoes hustling away on cold, crunchy ground. I can’t actually see anything around the massive Hulk-wannabe in front of me.

“Was that entirely necessary?” Despite my annoyance at my predicament flaring to life, I can’t fully remove the breathless quality from my voice.

With a swagger I refuse to admit is sexy as hell, Ash slowly turns to me. His giant arms are crossed over his barrel chest as his green eyes sweep over me. “Yes.”

“Maybe I wanted his help!”

I didn’t. But Ash certainly doesn’t need to know that.

“If you need help, Goldilocks, you askme.”

I huff out a frustrated breath. “Can you please do whatever Alpha A-hole crap this is somewhere else? I have a booth to set up.”

A smile breaks across his face as if my resistance is purely amusing. “You’re going to be working a booth here?”

Fuck.

“Grandma wants to have The Cat’s Cradle set up at the market for the season,” I reply.

“Goldilocks.” He invades my space, the scent of warm fires, evergreen trees, and musk crawling underneath my skin. “That’s not what I asked.”

“I said I didn’t need help.”

His eyes flicker down to my lips, lingering there. “Nah, that’s not what you said at all. You said you didn’t need his help. You never said you didn’t need mine. You want to put me to work? I’ll do anything you tell me.”

I raise a single eyebrow. “Anything?”

The smile melts from his face, a seriousness I haven’t experienced from him overtaking his expression. “Tell me to lift boxes...arrange crystals. Tell me to get on my knees and crawl to you. I’ll worship at your altar.”

Heat blooms in my cheeks, spreading through my body and threatening to burn me alive. The mental image of this man on his knees is too much.

“And if I ask you to leave?” My voice trembles.

He nods. “Then I will. But not forever, Goldilocks. I’ll always come back for you.”