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  She threaded her fingers through his thick hair, which curled just before his shoulders. Her head tilted back, and her eyes closed.

  They’d skirted around the idea that they were soulmates. She certainly didn’t want to think about it, much less talk about it. The bond she shared with him tinged her body from her fingertips to her toes like warm shower water dousing her body with her favorite soap bubbling across her skin.

  His kisses moved down her stomach, making it twitch. His fingers curled inside her leggings, rolling them over her hips, looping his index finger into her string panties, and he gently pulled her clothing to her ankles.

  Kneeling in front of her, he kissed the inside of her thigh, his hands digging into the soft flesh of her ass.

  She stared at him while his lips touched her everywhere except the one place that screamed for his touch. She wanted to guide his head to her, demand he take her womanhood. It wasn’t nerves that stopped her. She’d never been afraid to ask for what she needed in bed from a man. With Jackson, it was as if her body were a grand piano, and he was simply mastering a piece of fine music, key by glorious key.

  He stood, slipping his fingers across her hard nub. She gasped, grabbing his shoulders. His lips brushed hers, barely putting any pressure on them. Staring into her eyes, his finger continued to glide across her, back and forth and then in a circular motion before dipping just inside her, gathering her moist heat, and repeating the sensitive touch, each time rubbing a little harder, and entering her a little deeper.

  Her eyes widened with each stroke. The muscles in her legs tensed. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from his as he brought her the most exquisite pleasure. There was no desperation in his controlled movements, nor in her body’s response. The continued build up labored her breathing as she heaved in breaths, pushing her nipple harder against his other hand.

  Clutching his neck as a guttural moan vibrated her throat filling the room with the sounds of pure decadence, her hips rolled against his hand.

  He smiled, kissing the side of her mouth, a couple of fingers thrusting deep, lifting her up on tip-toe. His touch was no longer light as a feather, and her body responded in earnest.

  “Yes,” she moaned, tossing her head back, knowing it was pointless to try to stop the orgasm building in her stomach, making her muscles quiver.

  Without any warning, he pushed back onto the bed, tossing her legs over his shoulders, and driving his tongue inside.

  “Oh, my…” she fisted the sheets as both his hands kneaded her breasts, and his mouth made love to her like no other man had ever done before. It was soft and tender, yet wild and aggressive. He’d bring her so close by clamping his mouth around her, then just as her stomach tightened again, he’d lift his mouth from her, lapping at her gently, avoiding the spot that would drive her over the edge.

  He kissed the inside of her thigh as his thumb fanned over her swollen sex. With his other hand, he began to remove his clothing.

  She tried to wiggle to a sitting position, but he kept pushing her back to the bed, so she gave up and watched, while she caught her breath. When he lowered his pants, she gasped as his erection jaunted forward. Her eyes widened as he sheathed himself with a condom before draping her legs over his shoulders one more time.

  “Where was I?” he whispered. His hot breath heavy on her sex, making it throb, his tongue lapped at her before diving deep.

  She rolled her hips, now desperate for release. He’d teased her to the point she wasn’t beyond begging. Legs opened wider before closing, her thighs pushing against the side of his face. Tossing her head from side to side, she moaned his name over and over again, but once again he stopped just short of bringing her to climax.

  “Jackson,” she ground out, lifting her head, gasping as his fingers dove inside. He kissed her stomach, then her breasts, sucking each nipple into his mouth, letting it pop out.

  Spreading her legs, he nestled his body between them, his hard shaft pressing against the very thing that made her a woman.

  “Jackson, please,” she said, grinding against him in a desperation.

  He held himself over her, his elbows on either side of her face, smiling as he lifted his hips and finding home.

  Home.

  It was an odd thought and one that made her pause.

  He cocked his head back, staring at her.

  Wrapping her legs around him, digging her heels into his ass, she lifted her lips slightly. “Stop teasing me.”

  “Is that what I was doing?” he said, slowly sending his hardness deep into her body. He repeated the motion, each time going faster.

  And harder.

  Until he pounded her, rocking their bodies on the bed. He never tore his gaze away. His chest heaved into hers as he fisted her hair, groaning against her lips.

  “Oh, god.” She arched her back, her climax spilling out over him. “Jackson,” she whispered, her fingernails digging into his back, drawing him in as deep as he could go.

  He thrust in hard, short strokes, swelling inside her. Burying his face in her neck, he moaned out her name, and he rammed himself deep, holding himself there, throbbing inside her as another orgasm shook her body.

  Allowing all his weight on top of her, he eased his motions, nibbling on her earlobe. “Amanda,” he whispered. “It’s never been like this before.”

  She opened her mouth, but no words came out. She wasn’t even sure of what she would have said anyway. He’d made love to her like no other man had. It wasn’t just a powerful orgasm that made this experience different from the others. She felt as though he claimed her as his own, but even harder to take, she’d done the same thing.

  Her father had always told her that when the right man came along, she’d know it deep in her bones. Being with Jackson felt right, but she didn’t know anything, and the only thing her bones felt right now was being spent from a passionate evening.

  He rolled off her, pulling her next to his body. She sighed, resting her head in the crook of his shoulder, her leg draped over his thighs, pushing the insane thoughts out of her head. It was one night of great sex.

  Nothing more.

  Chapter 8

  Jackson slipped from the king-sized bed, careful not to disturb Amanda. He stood at the side of the bed, hiking up his jeans, and stared at her for a long moment. Her thick hair pooled on the pillow. She lay on her side, one hand resting where he’d been sleeping. He rubbed his chest, remembering what it was like to wake up swathed by her body.

  The early morning light peeked through the curtains, daybreak less than an hour away. He tip-toed out of the master bedroom, which was just down the hallway by the kitchen. One of the reasons he’d bought the house had been in part because the master had been on the main floor and had sliders that went out to a small patio near the pool, not to mention a view of the city that lit up the night sky like a laser show.

  The scent of his favorite hazelnut coffee filled the kitchen as the coffee maker poured the rich liquid. He normally made two cups, but last night he made sure he made four, knowing that Amanda was good for at least one full-sized cup.

  He stood in front of the coffee machine with his mug in his hand, as if this would hurry up the process of the water filtering through the grinds. He needed a shot of caffeine, so he could clear the matting cobwebs from his brain. No one he knew ever fell in love overnight. Sure, he’d been so infatuated with a woman before that it had become difficult to get her out of his mind. But Amanda was different. He not only felt an instant attraction, but a deep desire to get to know her better. He didn’t know what romantic love felt like, nor could he imagine anything so profound as the declaration to love only one woman. He’d cared for a few women over the years, however, not once had he ever dreamed about them having a future that included love, laughter, and children.

  And there was the rub.

  He didn’t want children.

  Ever.

  Not that he didn’t like kids, he loved them with all their innocent curiosit
y. He knew he was nothing like his father, but still, he worried that he’d be a horrible father and somehow continue the legacy his father had stuck him with.

  The coffee maker spattered out the last drop of the dark liquid. His mouth watered in anticipation as he poured it into the mug, steam rolling into the air.

  He sipped the scalding bitter coffee. Amanda had wormed her way under his skin, and he worried his family curse would stand in the way of his curious need to find out if she really was meant for him.

  The front doorbell dinged, echoing across the house. He glanced at the clock on the microwave flashing 7:15 a.m. If the paparazzi had crossed the street, onto his property, he’d be more than happy to show his teeth and give them something to talk about.

  He pressed his hands against the wood door, closing one eye as he peered through the peep hole. His brother, Decker, stood on the stoop, hands on his hips next to Amanda’s father.

  That couldn’t be good.

  Twisting the deadbolt, he yanked open the door, thinking he should have at least gone back and put on a shirt.

  “Why the hell haven’t you answered your phone?” Decker asked, his voice laced with a slight tremble of bitterness. Decker had balked at working with any witch, but it was being told to call Prince Alfred if anything odd happened had sent Decker off the deep end.

  “I left it on the night stand when I got up to make coffee.” Jackson stepped back, letting the Prince and his brother into the foyer.

  “Jackson?” Amanda’s voice called out from the kitchen. “Where are you? Your phone has been going bonkers. Your brother has called like three times in the last five minutes.”

  Jackson sucked in a breath, trying to rip his gaze from her father, who stared at him with an arched brow. He had to mention where he’d left his phone.

  “In the foyer,” Jackson called, ignoring his brother’s smirk. “Decker is here and so is your dad.”

  Silence from the other room.

  He stretched his arm out, allowing the Prince and his brother to take the lead.

  “I’ll make another pot of coffee,” Jackson said.

  “Wonderful. We have some things to discuss,” Alfred said, waltzing into the kitchen, drawing his daughter into his arms.

  “What are you doing here, Dad?” Her face flushed as her father kissed her temple. She wore one of Jackson’s button-down shirts she must have snagged from his closet along with a pair of leggings.

  He didn’t care she stole his shirt. He actually thought it cute, except for her father glancing between the two of them.

  “We’ve had some developments,” he said.

  “Let me go put a shirt on. I’ll be right back.” Jackson ducked into his bedroom, his palms sweating and his heart pounding. The last time being around a girlfriend’s father had made him jittery had been his senior prom when his date’s dad answered the door with a shotgun in his hand.

  He snagged a black T-shirt, taking a moment to calm his nerves. Amanda was a grown, stubborn woman who in the few short days he’d known her, proved to be strong and independent. Shaking his hands out, he pulled open the bedroom door and made his way back to the kitchen.

  Alfred and his brother had perched themselves on the barstools at the island, both palming a steaming mug. The coffee maker gurgled, making a second pot.

  Amanda leaned against the counter, one arm around her middle, the other raised as she chomped down on her perfectly manicured nail. His phone had been placed in the center of the island. Pointless to even look at it now. He should go take the third stool, but instead, he stood next to Amanda. He decided that might have been a mistake when her father cleared his throat.

  But he didn’t move.

  “Did something happen?” Jackson asked, directing the conversation to what brought them together in an odd alliance.

  “At about five this morning, I saw a witch flying low overhead. She stayed hidden in the trees. I almost missed her,” Decker said, swirling a spoon in his coffee. “I picked up her scent before I actually saw her.”

  “Who, her?” Jackson asked, taking the fresh cup Amanda offered him. She leaned against his hip. It was subtle, but it was obvious by the way her father curved a brow.

  Though, Jackson thought he saw the corner of the Prince’s mouth turn upward.

  Wishful thinking.

  “I didn’t get a good look,” Decker said, leaning back in his chair. “Just as I saw her, a light-green cloud-like puff, similar to the northern lights, covered the house outside whatever that protective thing Prince Albert cast.”

  “In private, please call me Albert.”

  Decker sat up taller. Most of their lives, once people heard their last name, treated them with kid gloves, staying aloof and keeping their distance.

  “I called…Albert… when we lost chase of the witch.” Decker stared into his mug as if it were his safe haven.

  “I was already on my way over about something else.” Alfred crossed his arms over his broad chest.

  “What’s that, Dad?” Amanda asked.

  Jackson reached around behind her, letting his hand rest against the small of her back. A bold move in front of her father, considering everything that happened, but he felt the need to let his feelings be known.

  Even if he didn’t understand them, or even believe them.

  “One thing at a time,” Albert said. His dark eyes had softened, turning a lighter, less intense black.

  Jackson felt a bit of a kinship toward the man, but again, something else he couldn’t explain.

  “The color of the fog is important,” Albert said. “Like Jackson, I had concerns that perhaps any faction of the Royal bloodline could be responsible for either spell that has plagued Jackson for most of his life. The green glow confirms those suspicions.”

  “No,” Amanda whispered, letting her body lean into him. “I can’t imagine anyone in our family—”

  Her father held up his hand. “Dark green would have meant the culprit would have been me or your sisters. Light green, what Decker describes, means anyone who has our bloodline. Aunts and uncles. Second cousins. A few outcast witches we haven’t talked to or seen in years.” Albert raised his mug to his lips, blowing on the hot liquid before taking a large gulp.

  “You mentioned the Book of Shadows has only been seen by the council and your family,” Jackson said, trying to pull up everything he could remember about the witch council, but he knew almost nothing.

  “Everyone on the council has Royal blood. They are either my aunts and uncles, great aunts and uncles, cousins and second cousins. This gives us twenty-nine suspects.” Albert set his mug on the granite countertop.

  “Two females and one male?” Jackson asked.

  Albert nodded. “I’ve made a list and we can go over them, but I want to discuss the unlucky spell first.”

  “What about it?” Jackson never thought in a million years that he’d be in his kitchen, talking with Royal witches about a spell that had potentially changed the course of his life.

  And not for the good.

  He curled his fingers around Amanda’s hip. The heat radiating from her body gave him a sense of strength he’d never felt before.

  “I had my secretary dig into your background and analyze your life—”

  “Why?” Jackson bit down on his tongue. The last thing he wanted to do was be disrespectful, but he hated it when people dissected his life. Analyzed his every decision.

  “You were the golden child of the industry until about a year after your Oscar win. Your father didn’t have much of an impact on you professionally until that point in your career, other than the occasional mention here and there. Mostly, it was little unlucky things that happened to you. Bad reviews. Being passed over for a role. Some bad money investments, but it all adds up to a bad luck spell.”

  “My entire life, my father has been a negative impact. I think when I was younger, people might have felt sorry for me, but they still were aloof and didn’t treat me or my family with respe
ct. It just got worse when I got my D.U.I., everyone just decided I wasn’t much different than my father.” Jackson’s stomach churned with the memory of cold, metal cuffs clamping over his wrists. He’d had two beers at a party and not a half a mile from the club, he got pulled over by a cocky police officer with an axe to grind.

  Jackson didn’t fight taking the breathalyzer, stunned that he was indeed over the legal limit. He wondered if anyone had spiked his drink, but he felt fine. Not even a little woozy. At the time, he’d maintained that it was all a set up, but he still had his license suspended for six months and had to perform community service.

  “That’s just it, son. I re-watched the footage of both your arrests, along with some other things, and I can see the effects of the spell. That cop acted so differently around you than he did other people. The man you hit? I watched you turn and take two steps in the other direction before nailing the guy in the nose.”

  “He did call my sister and mother some horrible names.” Jackson’s gut tightened. He remembered pausing and clenching his fists when the asshole hurled the insults, but Jackson had every intention of walking away. The one thing he had learned from the old man was that violence got you nowhere, fast.

  But for whatever reason, he couldn’t resist the urge to crack his knuckles against another man’s bones.

  “Are you a heavy drinker?” Albert asked the question with great authority in his voice.

  “No, not really. But I enjoy a good bottle of wine and like my beer now and then,” Jackson said, swallowing the lump in his throat.

  He pulled his hand from behind Amanda’s back.

  “Feel like taking a drink now?”

  “Hey,” Decker said. “I know you’re a prince and all, but my brother is a good man, and not a drunk.”

  “I know that,” Albert said, drawing his index finger and thumb down the sides of his face, rubbing together at the tip of his square chin. “An unlucky spell with have an impact on everyone who comes in contact with Jackson. If they feel animosity toward him, the greater the chance of conflict. For Jackson, it not only forces him to do things he wouldn’t normally, it has made him combative and now that the spell is gone, I suspect you’re feeling perhaps a little more confident and less defensive.”