Sex and the Psychic Witch Read Free

predicted rough seas, so it’s fate.”
    “I’ll make you a charm bag.” Destiny rose, not the least surprised.
    Storm frowned. “You do know that Paxton Castle is haunted by a witch, right?”
    “A fateful opponent. Geez, what’d I do, win the spook stakes?”
    “Hardly,” Destiny said. “Could be, the loser gets the castle.”
    “I’ll take the charm bag and raise you Nana’s amethyst ring . . . to protect me from psychic attack and enhance my power. For you, Storm, I’ll hug every oak between here and the marina.”
    “Twice,” Storm said, “and protect yourself with a circle of white light.”
    “Make that a sphere,” Destiny said, “and take your wand.”
----
Chapter Two
    KING Paxton looked up from his computer screen, jarred by a sudden crisp and eerie silence, the first of his experience in this godforsaken hellhole. No construction sounds. No wailing wind. No bickering workers.
    Just a goddess in the great hall.
    King gave his ogling crew a fierce scowl, but they stood rooted, all gazes locked on Real-Life Barbie. And no wonder, considering the man magnet’s startling effect.
    Great guns, he needed his libido coming out of hibernation like he needed a root canal, but he appreciated the rare sense of peace washing over him, though its origin puzzled him. In his experience, peace and sexual attraction did not go hand in hand. And it didn’t make sense to explore the anomaly or its ramifications, because he couldn’t act on either. As heir to this creepy kingdom, he needed to get this castle fixed and off his hands, without interruption.
    King stalked the man magnet’s way, invaded her space, and towered over her—a move that had broken better men—but the goddess refused to step back or break eye contact, while the scent of a lush summer garden encircled him.
    “Quite an intense, off-with-their-heads look you’ve got going here,” the intruder said. “Drawbridge, moat, and all. Gonna put me on the rack in the dungeon?”
    Damn. He had to respect a woman who could mock intimidation. “This is a construction site. You’re keeping my men from doing their jobs.” King gestured toward the salivating assembly.
    She turned and winked at them. “Go back to work.” And damned if his men didn’t get to work . . . in accord . . . for the first time since he started this money-sucking project.
    Yes, he’d inherited the bloody fortune the old pirate who built this place had amassed, but he was pissing it away by the second, here. And he did not need a showstopper . . . well, stopping the show. “This is a closed construction site, as in ‘dangerous to the general population.’ How’d you get past my guards?”
    The goddess raised her chin. “Never underestimate the power of cleavage.”
    King’s attraction upstaged his irritation while his blood headed south. Avoiding the rush, he turned to his crew. “My foreman will show you out.”
    His foreman neither moved nor blinked.
    “I said ,” King repeated, eyeballing his right-hand hulk, “Curt will show you the door.”
    “I know where the door is, Einstein. I just used it to come in.”
    Curt offered his arm, but with a lethal smile, the man magnet refused and made the brick linebacker blush, her blonde hair shifting like sea waves in a salty breeze, the sight and scent embedding peace like shrapnel into the air around them.
    King swore inwardly. He’d surrounded himself by yes-men and knew what to do with them. But damned if he knew what to do with the leggy blonde in red spikes, short shorts, and form-fitting Proud to Be Awesome V-neck tee, invading his castle, undermining his authority, diminishing his sanity, and refusing to budge.
    Normally, he respected the use of sex appeal—under controlled conditions—and in other circumstances, he might request further . . . credentials. But her timing sucked.
    He didn’t need anything else getting in the way of fixing this bad-luck money pit and selling it before it caused more grief. He