Sex and the Psychic Witch Read Free Page A

wished to hell he could get it off his hands as fast as he did every other high-end property he bought and restored.
    Logic, good sense, and good business told him to cut free, and fast, but a secret, rebelliously undisciplined part of him—the part he struggled to keep firmly in check—wanted to embrace the legacy of the castle and find the fundamental peace inherent in its structure and location.
    Peace, he’d spend his last dime to find. Hell, he was beginning to see it in this woman like a mirage, but he’d never find peace in a sexy diversion and provoking schedule glitch, blonde goddess or not. Besides, the castle’s tortured past ground peace into the dust on every surface.
    Everyone who walked into the place seemed to argue—the only reason he didn’t fire his bickering crew. Dissension had conspired for generations against anyone who entered here, as if this eerie madhouse—now, suddenly and amazingly silent of the wind wailing like a ghoul—refused to cooperate.
    And if that wasn’t insane, King didn’t know what was. Yes. Yes, he did. Insane was being magnetically—and he meant that literally—attracted to hot little miss sexy pants with attitude. Hell, she had his men drooling instead of arguing. Screw that, she had his blood making a U-turn, so the loss to his brain made him dizzy. “Out!” he shouted, pointing the way.
    Make-Me Barbie folded her arms and raised a brow.
    “Have it your way,” King said, lifting her—ramrod straight—off her feet and carrying her out the door, her fine ass filling the palm of one happy hand, her tight shirt riding low at its neck and high at her waist, so he couldn’t help but eyeball her lush breasts while the raw silk of the skin at her waist burned his fingers and threatened to cut him off at the knees.
    He moved fast, certain nothing could keep her quiet for long, not even shock. Steam rose between them where their bodies touched, the sizzle in their bold eye-to-eye causing a jolt of pure sexual energy.
    Like the sea, her eyes changed color with her mood. He watched it happen. A bright aquamarine glint fit the mischievous smile she’d given his men, but when fury replaced shock, her eyes took on a stormy sea shade, more green than anything, then a muted gray blue rolled in like a fog when the heat of their connection hit her.
    Their connection? He set her down with a teeth-jarring thud. “Sorry.”
    “Sorry?” she snapped, her latent blush ruddy. “Who do you think you are? King blooming Kong? Get your hairy, gorilla hands off me. I hate being touched.”
    The hell she did, but he’d forgotten to let her go. Damn. He retrieved his hands so fast, he saluted and did an about-face. Only thing to do now: retreat with mock dignity.
    Safe inside the castle—a ludicrous oxymoron—King closed the iron bound door . . . on his lust and the intruder’s outrage, both too perilous to consider. Aghast at the botch he’d made of showing her out, he dug deep into the cooler for a soft drink, wiped his face with an icy hand, and took a cold swig, almost relieved the sexpot was gone. But before he took another, the crew’s arguments resumed as did the wind’s demented wail.
    King swore and turned back to his computer, but the doors squealed open behind him, and silence cut the familiar tumult to a spine shiver.
    Dread and elation warred for prominence as he turned.
    She was ba-ack.
    He pointed her way out.
    The siren in spikes folded her arms and stood her ground. “There’s a For Sale sign outside.” Her chin of pure stubborn came up. “I’m a prospective buyer. I’d like a tour, please.”
    King looked from her to his amused, newly distracted men and figured that nothing constructive would get done . . . unless he got “trouble” the hell out. He swore, anticipated her sidestep, and swept her off her feet, removing her in the way a groom carries his bride over the threshold—God help him.
    He tried not to enjoy her elbow jabs to his chest, the shape of