Flirting With Fire: A Witch's Night Out (1Night Stand) Read online

  To think she’d been thrilled when his great-aunt offered her this five-year apprenticeship. Euphoric from getting her first job offer, she’d spared the clauses on the enchanted roll of parchment no more than a second’s glance before signing it in blood. After all, any self-respecting elemental witch or warlock would perform the ritual allowing a full renegotiation of terms prior to the beginning of service, as Nonna had done within seconds of hiring her. The physical contract, along with all the pesky antiquated codicils, served as a reminder of times past—a tradition borne out of nostalgia and the Wiccan flair for theatrics.

  For this reason, she’d found out about the service transferring to the witch’s heir upon death after her previous master had died. In hindsight, she should have studied the terms of her apprenticeship in greater detail, seeing as how the woman had been approaching a hundred at the time of her interview. But Cat’s eagerness to tell her parents she’d escaped the menacing clutches of post-graduation unemployment led to uncharacteristic carelessness, and the momentary lapse in judgment went on to bite her in the ass.

  She could have asked her family to help appeal the case when Nonna passed, but Cat had promised the old crone she’d take care of “her dear little nipote, Leo,” who turned out to be a twenty-seven-year-old intellectual property attorney with a deep-seated rejection of the occult. Of course, she should have seen the signs. Nonna’s estranged niece never visited, and in all the framed pictures that had once graced the living room mantle, the image of Leo’s father had been scorched out. If the previous owner of this house were to be believed, Difuoco, Sr. had been a “sanctimonious coglione” who’d isolated his wife and son from their magical roots with a methodical fanaticism that approached madness. This uncanny ability to ignore glaring evidence of the supernatural seemed to be a trait his son inherited.

  Her new boss’s denial of magic was so entrenched, his subconscious sabotaged all her attempts to enlighten him to his true nature. What should have been a simple matter of leaving him a note became a major fire hazard as paper, parchment, cloth, his laptop, and even a painted wall went up in flames as soon as he glimpsed her messages out of the corner of his eye. To make matters worse, he’d chalked up his haywire explosive bursts of power to the old house’s bad wiring and used it as an excuse to remodel.

  And, thus, her charming witch’s den full of antique furniture, flying carpets, and invaluable artifacts devolved into a bachelor pad, sparsely furnished, with a 60-inch plasma screen, which she rather appreciated, several gaming consoles, IKEA dressers, and more leather surfaces than any house should contain.

  Her failure to communicate with the dratted man resulted in six months of house arrest. A familiar was the Energizer Bunny to an elemental witch or warlock’s battery pack. While in animal form, they stored up pure energy, which could be used by their employer to perform more complex enchantments and spells. Familiars also had the discretion to channel stockpiled mojo into less-advanced but useful witchery most elementals considered beneath them. Without her, Leo couldn’t access his power in any form other than its most basic state, which might have been helpful back in the days when starting fires took a lot of effort. In the twenty-first century, such magic was more an inconvenience than anything else, which was why shape-shifting witches such as Cat still earned a living wage.

  Since familiars processed energy most efficiently by staying in non-human form while in close proximity with their masters, the outdated boilerplate Familiar Employment Agreement included a clause preventing the contracted parties from assuming their natural state without express permission. It also confined them to two physical locations: the contract holder’s domicile or a ten-foot radius around their person. Since indentured servitude had been made illegal over a hundred years before, both these archaic clauses were almost always waived via a simple ritual.

  But because the person who inherited her contract didn’t have a clue magic existed, he hadn’t uttered the incantation permitting her to revert to her natural form. Forced to appear to him as a cat until otherwise indicated, she couldn’t explain her need for more than a single twelve-hour holiday a year, which had been the modus operandi back in the Dark Ages, when the contract language was first drafted. In keeping with modern employment practices, Nonna had given her all the Federal holidays off, in addition to a handful of sick days and casual leave.

  If the stupid warlock wasn’t such a homebody, she might have been able to stick it out. A well-established young professional in his prime should go out more. His attachment to hearth and home exceeded his great-aunt’s, which said something about his lack of a social life. He adhered to a strict work-gym-house routine and seemed to prefer couch surfing to drinking at a bar. Her me-time dwindled even further when he cancelled his gym membership and converted Nonna’s old spell nook into a workout room. As much as she enjoyed watching the man pump iron, the all-look-and-no-play situation wreaked havoc on her already crazy libido.

  Soaping her too-sensitive body, she closed her eyes and recalled an image of him from earlier that morning. She’d wanted nothing more than to slip through the glass doors, run her palms along those wet, chiseled abs, and trace the defined lines of chest muscle with her fingers. After less than two minutes of voyeurism, she’d imagined levering herself using those broad shoulders, wrapping her legs around his torso, and fusing her mouth with his.

  Why did her boss have to be clueless and sexy? If not for the latter trait, it’d be much easier to hate his guts. Instead, she was trapped in a weird limbo between impatient annoyance and unbridled horniness. She switched the water to a cold blast. It didn’t help.

  One cardinal rule existed in all professions—Thou shalt not lust after the boss. To it, she’d add—especially not when you’re his minion, bound by blood to do his bidding, and he doesn’t see you as a human being. But the impracticality of this attraction didn’t change the fact this man appealed to her in the most carnal way. It was a good thing she transformed into a cat whenever he came close, else her panties would be damp from constant sexual fantasies.

  When she slept, she dreamt of learning the texture of his dark five o’clock shadow with her lips, of feeling his coarse chest hair rasp over her breasts. He might be no more than two inches taller than her, but she’d be powerless in his grasp. The man was all muscle, from his thick neck to his toned arms. Even without the magical rules demanding her complete obedience, he could compel her to do whatever he wanted.

  This embarrassing and unrelenting lust put an impetus on finding a way out. She’d served Nonna for a little over three years and spent the past six months in his care, leaving an interminable eighteen months on the damn contract. By the time it ended, she’d be a frustrated nymphomaniac.

  Rinsing the last of the suds, she shut off the shower and stepped out. After wiping away the condensation, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Heat and arousal had combined to bring a blush to her cheeks, turning her amber complexion close to orange. Rivulets of water dripped from her short-cropped hair and dotted her neck and chest, which rose and fell with each shallow pant. For no reason she could fathom, her lips glowed bright red.

  She needed to get hold of herself. Her neck and cleavage were damp with sweat despite the recent shower. Her breasts ached, her nipples tightening into sharp buds. She closed her hands over the full mounds, her grasp too small to provide any relief. A memory of Leo’s long fingers rushed to the fore. She could feel his calluses over her skin, imagine those strong hands milking her flesh. Desire gathered deep within, the molten throb prompting her to flatten her palms on the mirror.

  Filling her lungs with steamy air, she forced her rampant imagination under control. Tonight was All Hallows’ Eve—her contractually mandated holiday. She needed to decide what to do with those liberating twelve hours, not fantasize about the one man she should never make a move on.

  Chapter Two

  “What do you mean, I shouldn’t confront him?” Cat gaped at her little sister’s image on the
computer screen. “You’ve been egging me on to take another stab for months.”

  “Shelley has a vibe. You need to do something else tonight.” Dulcina thrived as a familiar to her childhood best friend, elemental witch-in-training Shelley Dupree. Thick as thieves since they attached their hips to each other on the first day of daycare, the two made one of the oddest Wiccan pairs. Their arrangement more a partnership than an apprenticeship, they cohabited a small townhouse in northern Virginia, two Metro stops from the city-center brownstone Cat shared with Leo in the District of Columbia.

  Her confidence shaken, she nonetheless protested, “I won’t take life advice from someone who’s too young to buy alcohol. Besides, didn’t you tell me your friend’s visions,” she drew quotes in the air with her fingers, “are hit or miss?”

  As an earth witch, Shelley should have minimal non-elemental powers, making her frequent accurate premonitions suspect. Cat had long since pegged her sister as the source of all these predictions. Because the girl insisted on staying in the precognition closet, hinting at the truth was an effective way to get under her skin.

  Dulcina, who preferred the nickname Sweets due to repeated shortening of her given name to some variation of Douche, Douchy, or China, refused to take the bait. “Shelley’s vibes are always spot on. That said, they’re too vague to be useful most of the time.”

  “Bringing us back to….”

  Sweets lifted an eyebrow. “Remember what happened to the wall you painted with your cockamamie message? By the way, big sis, couldn’t you come up with anything better than ‘You’re a warlock, and I’m your familiar’?”

  The surface had gone up in flames, leaving sooty black scorch marks requiring an expensive paint job that resulted in the entire interior going from invigorating crimson to boring dove gray. “I’m not an inanimate object.”

  “Which means you’ll die if this goes wrong. Are you willing to risk your life for freedom?”

  As much as she hated to admit it, the answer was no. A decade of liberty might be worth it, but not a year and a half. “I can’t stay like this for much longer. Do you want to see me as an ill-behaved, tantrum-throwing lunatic?” Sweets nodded, prompting Cat to narrow her eyes. “I’m cooped up indoors alone all day and spend the rest of my time as a cat. I haven’t bothered to wear anything but T-shirts and pajama bottoms in six months. This is the worst job on the planet.”

  Her sister scratched her pointed nose. “Even compared to the child laborers jobs, slaving away while locked inside a Chinese factory?”

  Cat wasn’t in the mood for a whose-life-is-crappier debate. “Okay, the worst excuse for an apprenticeship. I can’t learn magic from someone who doesn’t practice it. What’s the point of my being here?”

  Sweets lifted her hand and rubbed her thumb over the tips of her fingers. “Since Mamá steamrolled you into burying your recent windfall in retirement accounts and long-term mutual funds, your end-of-service bonus lets you go on that world tour you’ve been harping on about. And who knows? I might need you to bail my broke ass out of trouble some time in the next twenty years. It’s important you have as much accessible cash as possible.”

  “Your future lack of funds,” Cat gritted out, “is not more important than my professional development.”

  “Oh, please. You’ve learned plenty. Familiars channel a witch’s raw power to do practical mundane enchantments. Haven’t you been doing nothing but those for the past six months? I’d bet you tried something new and awesome today.”

  Best not admit she’d returned a broken soap holder to its original state less than an hour before, a feat she’d pulled off for the first time. “My goal in life is not to be a warlock’s maid. I spend all day playing Zumba in front of the Xbox and cleaning the place. Lack of dust is one of the few things in life the man cares about.”

  “Don’t be so melodramatic.” Sweets rolled her eyes. “Your booty’s less flabby, thanks to all the exercise, and it’s not like you’ve ever held a mop. You cast spells on all the cleaning supplies, and they work on autopilot, which, by the way, is some high-level voodoo shit. Do you see Shelley, or me, or even Mamá pulling off those types of stunts? No, we’re stuck moving our own brooms around.”

  The longer she remained a cat, the more magic she had to command. Since she spent fourteen hours a day, on average, amassing her boss’s energy, she was capable of some very impressive work. “My fat butt and cleaning excellence is not the point. I’m approaching twenty-five. I should be doing something more meaningful with my life.”

  “I’d trade my trim waistline for your ‘fat’ ass, and don’t go adding to your age. You’ve two years before you hit the big two-five. And what have you ever wanted to be besides a familiar?”

  Nothing, which was why she’d jumped at the chance to pair up with Nonna. “You and your skinny one hundred pounds don’t have to size up so everything fits around the chest and hips. And I’m not much of a familiar, since my warlock isn’t aware I exist. Even if he were, I’m better at magic than he is.”

  Sweets waved her hand, the motion creating a pixelated blur on the video feed. “He knows you exist, just not as a person. Trust me, there are plenty of other personal assistants in D.C. who share similar fates.”

  Cat crossed her arms. “Familiars aren’t personal assistants.”

  “You’ve been drinking too much Wiccan Kool-Aid. If you had read your contract, which would have prevented these less than desirable circumstances from occurring, you’d agree with me. The whole point of our existence is so the almighty hocus-pocus crowd can focus on big-picture stuff and not have to deal with life’s inconveniences.”

  Cat narrowed her eyes. Her sister was equal parts blunt and insightful, an exasperating combination. “Why did you sign a contract with Shelley if you’re so against the arrangement?”

  Sweets batted her eyelashes. “Aside from her being my BFF and so clueless she needs constant supervision?”

  If her sister ever bothered to ask Cat’s opinion, she’d tell Sweets her witch deserved more credit despite suffering from the magical equivalent of agoraphobia. “My point is, you two have an equal footing in the partnership. As far as Leo’s concerned, I might as well not be here.”

  Her sister counted off on her fingers. “Let’s see…you manage the man’s financial portfolio, pay his bills, do his taxes, keep his house dust-free and shiny. In your spare hours, you make sure he’s fed, wakes up on time to go to work, and doesn’t miss an episode of Supernatural. Trust me, if you disappeared, he’d notice.”

  Cat took a deep breath. “No one wants to spend all day picking index funds and managing people’s books.”

  “Umm…. I think those who do that are called accountants and financial advisors. Didn’t you get a bachelors in something along those lines?”

  Cat was a CPA and broker with a degree in finance and accounting. To supplement her salary, she managed the portfolios of multiple clients online. Though her foresight didn’t compare to the Sweets-Shelley duo, combining the latent ability with a good grasp of current events allowed for a decent profit on the stock market.

  Since this conversation had gone off on an odd tangent, Cat reverted to the original topic. “So, is there any other reason I shouldn’t confront Leo tonight in a very visible public location and ask him to void my contract? Aside from the slim possibility of me bursting into flames?”

  “I told you. Shelley’s vibes point to a different path.”

  Cat massaged her temples. “Could you…? Did she give more details?”

  Tapping sounds crackled over the speaker. A second later, an e-mail notification popped up. Cat opened it and frowned. “How does my going on a one-night stand solve anything? And isn’t Madame Eve the matchmaker.”

  Sweets cleared her throat. “The whole soul mates thing is a marketing ploy. I’m not 100% sure how this invitation will solve all your problems, but I…. Shelley said your planets are about to come into alignment. She even prepaid for the service, and you know how s
tingy she is.”

  Such astrological events could be either fortuitous or disastrous, depending on the exact circumstances. “I don’t see how—”

  “You have the hots for your boss, and for some reason, you’re convinced it’s a problem. I don’t understand what the big deal is, but maybe getting laid will give you the extra oomph to stick it out until your contract expires. There’s a $50,000 bonus tied to the clause—hard-earned wages you’d earmarked to spend on yourself long before Nonna died, so there’s a chance you won’t buckle under parental pressure and squirrel it away. Until then, his home gym saves you a fortune on membership fees.”

  “I can’t leave the apartment to exercise regardless….” But other than that, her sister had a point. How annoying. “And I don’t feel like having sex.” At least, not with anyone other than the boss in question.

  “What’s wrong with expanding your horizons? As nice as your ex-boyfriend Bobby was, the dork didn’t even watch porn. Did you get off once during sex in the three years you were together, or did you have to crest the hill solo?”

  “None of your business.” The brat was too perceptive by half. “Besides, a one-night stand seems so…torrid.”

  Her sister’s nose wrinkled. “What are you, some Victorian romance heroine? You’ve been spending too much time cooped up at home, reading Georgette Heyer. If it makes you feel any better, Shells assures me your life will change after tonight.”

  The problem with the word change was its neutrality. You could never tell with witches, young ones in particular. A premonition this vague could mean a serial killer planned to murder her. “So, you want me to spend my single holiday of the year meeting some stranger—”