An Enchanted Season

One

“I JUST HAVE ONE QUESTION,” WILL THORNTON SAID CASUALLY as he stood on a ladder and nailed fresh evergreen swags above Charlotte Murphy’s front door.

“What?” Charlotte dragged her gaze off the seat of Will’s jeans with a significant amount of effort, refusing to feel guilty. Lord, Will was slow sometimes. Her arms were straining under the weight of the boughs she was holding for him and her feet were getting cold in a hurry. Checking out the view he provided at eye level from his position on the ladder was fair compensation for the discomfort she was enduring.

“Who just grabbed my ass?”

Charlotte almost fell off the front step. “What? What are you talking about?” Okay, so maybe she had entertained the idea once—or nine hundred times—of cupping his backside and giving a nice, hard little squeeze, but she would never act on it. Probably. She was pretty sure. But definitely if she did, she would know it. Savor it. Make it count.

“Someone just copped a feel, and since I can see you out of the corner of my eye, and your hands are full, I was just wondering if you could tell whoever did it that it’s not wise to grope a man on a ladder, unless she wants me to break my neck.”

Glancing around to confirm what she knew, Charlotte frowned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. There’s nobody here but us.” And her libido.

“Your sister did it, didn’t she? That sounds like Bree.” Will reached for another swag and Charlotte passed it up to him.

“Bree went shopping an hour ago.” Which was classic Bree. Ditch out doing the Christmas decorating for their house with an excuse about getting pomegranates for a centerpiece. Like there were any pomegranates in the tiny grocery in Cuttersville, Ohio. Bree just wanted to peruse the bookstore, gossip at the hair salon, and stay out long enough to avoid having to drag all the boxes of ornaments out of the basement.

“Abby?” Will asked doubtfully.

“Abby! My baby sister, who is only seventeen, need I remind you, did not touch your butt, Will. No one did.” For crying out loud, did he want someone to touch it? If she were a little bolder, she’d just reach out and smack it right now to really give him something to think about. But she wasn’t bold. She was the opposite of bold—she was pastel pink on the color wheel.

“Someone did. I know what I felt.” Now his voice sounded stubborn, his hammer pounding harder.

“Well, I didn’t.”

“Course not.”

That was irritating. He didn’t think she could, or would, or didn’t think she should? How was it that he could suspect her little sister, a junior in high school, of grabbing him, but she was a no way, never happen? Was she so staid and boring and vanilla that it would never occur to him that she did actually have a sex drive, though it was well hidden and brought out only on special occasions like full moons and when the annual firefighters’ hottie calendar hit the bookstore in town?

“Then I guess it was just wishful thinking, Will, because we’re the only two people standing here.”

“Huh,” he said, leaning against the ladder for support and glancing left and right. “That’s really weird.”

What was weird was that never once in the last eight years had Will so much as suspected she liked him more than was appropriate for good friends. Yet she did. She loved him with a passion and urgency that was just downright embarrassing when she allowed herself to ponder it—or wallow, which was probably more frequently.

But he didn’t seem to be on to her. To Will, she was just Charlotte, his best pal. Damn it.

Irritating as hell, but there it was. And she’d never had the guts to do anything but wait for him miraculously to come to his senses and figure out what was standing right in front of him. Which was a really sucky strategy, because so far Will hadn’t been stricken with any epiphanies that they should really be Cuttersville’s number one couple.

“Maybe it was the wind.”

He scoffed and yanked another bough out of her arms. “Wind doesn’t squeeze like that.”

“Then it must have been a ghost,” she said in exasperation.

She expected him to reject that ridiculous suggestion as well, but instead his brown eyes went wide. “That’s a disturbing thought.”

“There are no ghosts. I was kidding. Ghosts don’t exist.”

“Your grandmother said they did.” Will took the last strand, much to her relief, and moved down the ladder so he could complete the arch around the door at the bottom left.

“My grandma—God rest her soul—was crocked. Sure she believed in ghosts, but she also said I’m a witch, and we know how crazy that is.”

Will grinned at her, revealing his white teeth and dimples. How could he not realize how freaking cute he was? Charlotte thought it defied explanation that he didn’t see the adoration that just had to be scrawled across her face. Apparently she’d missed her calling as an actress when she’d decided to open a coffee shop for a living, because Will didn’t give so much as a hint that he saw her as anything but asexual.

“Yeah, you’re not really the witch type.”

“Who is the witch type?” And why did that suddenly make her feel lousy? It was that excitement thing again…she was neither a butt grabber nor a spell caster in Will’s eyes. So what exactly was she to him? She probably didn’t want the answer to that.

“Bree’s the witch type.”

“God, don’t tell her that. She already thinks we should take up our ‘heritage’ and join a coven, and she’s forever running on about her so-called empathic abilities.” Charlotte stomped her feet a little to get the blood flowing. She wore only ballet flats, not boots, and the cold was seeping in. Ramming her hands deeper into the pockets of her black puffy coat, she waited impatiently as Will slowly pulled the ladder off the house and dropped it down.

“Actually, Abby acts devious enough to be one, too. She does that evil eye thing when she’s mad at you.”

“Again, don’t encourage her, either. She’s already gone completely Goth, right along with Bree. And Abby has been known to brag about the well-known fact that she was conceived in a cemetery.” A source of mortification since Charlotte had been old enough to understand it, she had often wondered what kind of woman got it on in the graveyard. Finally, she had concluded that the answer was simply that the kind of woman who got turned on in a graveyard was her mother. As for her father, it was no secret to anyone that he happily gave his wife whatever she wanted, which explained both Abby’s unusual conception and the fact that her parents were currently on a two-week tour of America’s most haunted prisons. There was just no point in wondering sometimes.

Will lifted the ladder sideways and headed toward the garage with it. “Still amazes me that you have blond hair and your sisters are both brunettes. You don’t look anything like them.”

“I know. And you know how my mom feels about it. It drives her insane that I look like Malibu Barbie. Without the chest. Or the tiny waist. Or the bikini.”

Will laughed. “Oh, I don’t know. You might give Barbie a run for her money.”

If that were a compliment, she’d take it.

“And I’m sure your mother doesn’t care that you have blond hair.”

“Yes, she does.” Charlotte followed him, picking carefully over the snowy ground. “You know that Murphy girls are supposed to be weird. Interesting. Into crystals and piercings and flowing skirts. That’s Bree and Abby. I’m odd blonde out who turned the tarot shop I inherited from my grandmother into a Caribou Coffee. That’s blasphemy in the Murphy house, you know that.”

Will figured there was some truth to that, but he also thought Charlotte worried too much. “They’re proud of you, Charlotte. Even if they don’t always get you.” Will kept the ladder firmly in his hands so he wouldn’t touch her. He was frequently tempted to touch Charlotte and almost always managed to control himself. Occasionally he couldn’t resist and gave her a nudge or a shoulder rub or a quick peck on the top of her head, and she didn’t seem to mind that.

The one time he had given in to hope and tried to kiss her full on the mouth, five years earlier, she had shot him such a look of horror, asking, “What are you doing?” that he had pulled back quick like and had never made that mistake again.

He was in love with Charlotte, and he suffered that knowledge in silence.

It was a hard lot in life and he saw no end in sight to the dilemma. Eventually he figured one of two things would happen. He’d either drop dead of sexual frustration, or Charlotte would fall in love with some schmuck and get married. If it was the latter, well, he’d have to pull up stakes and move out of state, because he could not watch her carrying on with another man. No frickin’ way.

“What are you doing the rest of the day?” she asked him, with obviously no idea of the direction his thoughts had been running. “I’ve got to head to the shop in an hour for the Saturday night rush.”

Since Charlotte had defied Cuttersville’s fear of coffee with whipped toppings and her own family’s franchise disdain, and opened a Caribou Coffee, the Midwest equivalent of a Starbucks, right smack downtown, her business had been booming. It had become a favorite Saturday night hangout for a lot of folks, young and old alike. Will thought her business savvy was amazing.

“I guess I’ll just put up my own Christmas tree and call it an early night. I’m on morning shift tomorrow.” Not that work would stop him from staying up all night if he had a good reason—he just didn’t have a good reason. Unless Charlotte reacted the way he wanted her to his pronouncement, the way he knew she would.

She frowned at him. “You can’t put your tree up by yourself! That’s…that’s…”

A cry for help? He was well aware what he was doing, and he should feel pathetic that he was playing off her sympathy, but he was too determined to spend as much time with her as possible to care. He shrugged and tried to look lonely, but stoic. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Yes, it is. Tree trimming is something you do with the people you lo—family and friends. I’ll come over after work and we can do it together. It will be fun. I’ll make you watch cheesy Christmas movies with me, because you know how much I love those.” She glanced down at his arms. “Are you going to set that ladder down? It must be heavy.”

Yes. He was going to set the ladder down and he was going to close the three feet between them and he was going to put his mouth on hers, and slide his hand inside her jacket and cup her breast. His tongue was going in her mouth and taking possession, licking and sliding and mating, until she was weak with wanting him. Then when he stripped her clothes off and took her against the garage wall, she was going to understand, accept, embrace the fact that he wanted her as his friend, his lover, his life partner.

Or he could just shrug and lift the ladder onto its wall-mounted hooks.

But before he could do either, Charlotte’s eyes went wide.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “You look sort of…angry.”

It was lust, not anger. Pure sexual desire that threatened to make him lose control as she stood in the middle of the garage, her puffy coat covering all her curves, her fur-lined collar up around her ears, and her nose pink from the cold. He wanted her, he didn’t know what the hell to do about it, and he was starting to get weird and desperate. But before he could formulate any sort of reply, he felt movement on his chest.

Thinking there was a spider or something crawling up his coat, Will swatted at it, glancing down.

“What are you doing?” she asked, taking a step forward.

“There’s something on me.” And crazy enough, even though he couldn’t see a damn thing, his jacket zipper was actually descending. “What the hell?” It was just gliding right down, like someone was tugging it. It wasn’t falling, it was being pulled. By nothing.

“Uh…Charlotte…”

“Your zipper’s going down,” she said, coming to a halt. “How is that possible?”

If he knew, he wouldn’t be freaking out. He grabbed at it and tried to stop it, but the zipper was already undone at the bottom and the two sides of his jacket had fallen apart. “That was really weird. That’s what it was like when I felt someone touch my ass. It felt totally real.”

Charlotte was frowning. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

He was starting to doubt that himself, since he was the one being accosted. “I’m a cop, I don’t believe in that stuff, either. But this is Ohio’s most haunted town according to those paranormal investigators.” Will shot an uneasy glance around the garage. It was an old structure, the garage originally a carriage house to the hundred-and-twenty-year-old Victorian Painted Lady that Charlotte lived in with her sister Bree. “And I know what I felt. And you saw what just happened.”

“It was just a defect in your zipper.” She was still frowning, her lips pursed together.

He would be willing to accept that if it made any sense at all, but it really defied the logic. “Okay, so let’s just get out of here and we’ll pretend nothing happened. I’m cool with that.”

She nodded but didn’t say anything.

Will took a step forward right as he felt the unmistakable sensation of his jeans unsnapping and the zipper starting to come down.

“Holy shit…” He stopped in his tracks and glanced down at his pants in disbelief. His black boxer briefs were showing.

Charlotte screamed. “Will!”

And just as fast as the zipper went down, it went back up, and though the snap seemed to struggle a little, it finally closed, too.

“Not only is this garage haunted, the ghost is a pervert,” Will said, holding on to his pants with both hands. If Charlotte ever saw him naked, it was not going to be because some frisky spirit yanked his drawers and had him standing in front of her buck naked from the waist down.

“Maybe you should go,” Charlotte said, wide-eyed. “I’ll finish putting all these leftover lights and boxes away. I’ll see you tonight at your place after I close the store.”

Then her gaze dropped down to the front of his jeans and the tip of her tongue peaked out and slid across her bottom lip.

Yep. Time to go.

Will almost ran into Charlotte’s sisters as he got the hell out of the garage and moved down the driveway, darting a glance back over his shoulder.

“Dude, watch it.”

Abby was holding her hand out in front of her, preventing him from slamming into her. They had parked behind him on the street and he hadn’t even noticed them getting out of their car.

“Sorry.” Testing the zipper on his pants to make sure it was still up and locked in place, Will tried to focus in front of him and reestablish a hold on reality. “What are you two up to?”

“Panties shopping,” Abby said, tossing her thick, dark hair over her shoulder, exposing a multitude of black and silver necklaces that looked like they were choking the life out of her. “And is your fly down or do you have to like go to the bathroom? You keep grabbing yourself.”

“Excuse me?” Will blinked at her. What was with the Murphy sisters today? They seemed determined to make him uncomfortable, and he was equally determined to ignore the question about his crotch. “Where were you?”

“Shopping. I bought a bunch of thongs,” Abby elaborated. She dug into the bag on her arm. “Black, and a pink pair, and one with cherries on it…You want to see?”

Only if he was a total sicko. She was a freakin’ baby. “No, that’s okay.” He glanced over at Bree, wanting some help. Somebody needed to rein Abby in, and it wasn’t going to be him.

Bree raised an eyebrow at him, a slight smile on her face. “Abby, Will doesn’t want to see your underwear. He only wants to see Charlotte’s naughty bits.”

“What?” He didn’t even know what the hell a naughty bit was, but he wasn’t about to admit wanting to see it. Even if he did probably want to see it on Charlotte.

The middle sister, and by far the most straightforward, Bree shook her head, fingering the star hanging from her neck, on the outside of her black, capelike winter coat. “I’ve been pretending I didn’t know this for about a million years, and I’m tired of keeping quiet. You’re in love with Charlotte. It’s totally obvious.”

Shit. “To who?” Please tell him it wasn’t obvious to Charlotte, because he was going to find himself seriously embarrassed if that was the case.

“To me. I’m empathic, remember? I can sense your feelings.”

Right. Bree thought she was a witch who could somehow know accurately everyone’s feelings. While Will wasn’t going to accept that witches existed just as a matter of course, he wasn’t inclined to flat out dismiss the possibility, either. But Bree had been saying that she was one ever since he’d met her and he’d yet to see her do anything magical. Even this revelation wasn’t all that amazing. He imagined it wouldn’t take much for someone to guess his true feelings for Charlotte if they spent as much time with him and Charlotte as Bree did.

“Can you sense that I don’t want to talk about this?” He zipped his jacket back up and dug in his pocket for his keys.

“She loves you, too.”

Will did not need to hear that. “No, she doesn’t.”

“She does?” Abby asked in amazement. “I thought they were just best friends.”

“Hello. Yes, she loves him. As more than a friend. She wants him naked, and he wants the same for her. And neither one of them will make a move. Yet we all know they’d make the perfect couple.”

It was really annoying and painful to stand there and listen to Bree feed all of his delusions. “Bree, just leave it alone.”

“If she gave you a very obvious sign that she was interested, would you go for it?”

He wanted to scoff and tell her it would never happen, but he figured the best way to get her to lay off was to be honest. “Yeah. Sure. But short of her kissing me, with tongue, which is never going to happen, I’m not going to believe she’s interested in me.”

Bree smiled. That close-lipped knowing grin scared him.

“Trust me, Will-sie,” she said. “Bree is going to make everything right.”

God help him.

Two

CHARLOTTE SHOVED BOXES UP AGAINST THE GARAGE WALLS with manic fervor, her hands shaking slightly. She had mentally unzipped Will’s pants. How the hell had she done that?

She had wanted it to happen. She’d visualized it happening. Then had watched the reality right before her eyes. His jacket, and then his pants, had come undone. The jacket had been wishful thinking. The pants had been some kind of a test to herself, to prove the jacket was a coincidence.

It wasn’t. She had mentally demanded his pants unsnap, and they had.

She had the power to strip men with her mind.

Wow. That was truly mind-boggling.

But it had to be a fluke. A coincidence. Not real. Right?

Charlotte remembered how she had mentally chanted, “Down, down, down,” while she had visualized Will’s zipper descending. And then it had.

Yikes.

“What’s the matter with you?” her sister Abby asked from behind her. “You’re like throwing those boxes around.”

Charlotte stopped shoving the huge empty Christmas tree box into the corner and grabbed the robotic reindeer and dragged him out, determined to be normal. She would put the deer in the yard, plug his ass in, and have a normal Christmas like normal people did, who weren’t witches and didn’t make men’s pants unzip with their minds.

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” That was Bree’s voice now, sounding concerned, but Charlotte couldn’t bring herself to look at her sister. Despite being totally different, she and Bree had always been close, and were only two years apart in age. Since they’d moved into their grandmother’s house together the year before when Bree had inherited it, they’d gotten even tighter. Bree would know she was hiding something if she looked at her.

Apparently she knew anyway. “Charlotte, come on. You’re really upset. Tell us what’s wrong. Is it Will? We saw him in the driveway looking a little freaked. Did you guys finally give into the inevitable and make out or something?”

She wished. “No.” Grappling with the deer, dragging him across the concrete floor, she glanced at Bree. “His pants just unzipped, that’s all.”

“Why would that make both of you freak out?” Abby asked, swinging a shopping bag in her hand. “You’re like almost thirty and you’ve known each other for half your lives. I don’t think seeing him unzipped would be that big of a deal.”

It really wouldn’t be if she wasn’t totally in love with him and she hadn’t made it happen by the sheer force of her sexually frustrated will. “I think I did it. With my mind. Which is impossible, of course, so clearly I’ve lost that same mind, and the fact that I have these feelings for Will is causing me to have a mental breakdown.”

Bree held up her hand. “Stop right there. You’re not having a mental breakdown. Now put down the damn deer and let’s go in the house and talk about this.”

“I have to finish with the Christmas decorations.” Charlotte got the reindeer to the driveway and switched her hands to his ears, hoping it would be easier to pick him up that way. He wasn’t heavy, just awkward.

Except that her sister yanked the reindeer away from her and slapped him down in a snow bank right next to the garage. “The deer can wait. There’s almost a month until Christmas. We need to talk.”

“No.” But she already knew she’d lost. Bree was much more stubborn than she was and she would keep at her until she confessed the whole thing. Might as well get it over with because she did not like confrontation or having her sisters annoyed with her.

“Go in the kitchen and sit.” Bree pointed at the back door.

“Fine.” Charlotte figured she could use a little reassurance.

Five minutes later they were sitting around the big round table in the kitchen that Charlotte had painted a distressed white, settled in creaky ladderback chairs, teacups in front of them.

“So what happened?” Bree asked.

Charlotte clutched her teacup with a yellow rose pattern, letting the warmth seep into her flesh. “Okay, this is totally embarrassing.”

“We know you dig Will. That’s not a secret, so don’t worry about it.”

“I didn’t know you dig Will,” Abby said, making a face at her cup as she sipped the tea. “Bree knew, though.”

Of course she did. Bree knew everything Charlotte was feeling. It was a creepy sort of ability her sister had, to get in tune with other people’s emotions. She was a good judge of character as well. “Okay, I do sort of like him. A lot. For a while now. But he’s not interested. So I was just looking at Will, thinking that it would be really, really nice to just unzip his jacket and run my hands across his chest. He has a nice chest, you know. Really, really nice. Muscular. He works out a lot. It’s a cop thing.” Charlotte set the tea down, no longer needing the extra heat. “And then his zipper just went down. Just like…” She gestured with her hand in front of her. “It was totally weird. So I thought, bizarre coincidence, right? So I focused on the zipper on his jeans, thinking while that’s what I’d really like to see come undone, it was never going to happen. So I sort of mentally chanted the word ‘down’ and pictured it unzipping, and then it just was. The snap came undone, and the zipper went down. It was crazy.”

Bree didn’t back her up on that crazy thing. Instead she just nodded, looking satisfied. “So we finally know what your magical talent is. I’ve been waiting for years for some kind of indicator from you…Abby and I have known all along what our talents are. I can sense and alter other people’s feelings, Abby can insert herself into other people’s dreams, and now you can move objects. That’s very cool.”

Not cool. Charlotte rubbed her temples. “I can’t move objects. It was just some kind of bizarre coincidental accident. Like the wind did it and I just thought I did it.” Which was ridiculous and she knew it. The wind couldn’t have managed what she’d seen. “And I’ve never moved anything with my mind before.”

“This was different because you focused. You channeled your emotion—you are in love with Will, and love, grief, and anger are the most intense emotions we experience. All your want and desire was behind the urge to unzip his jacket, and then with the pants, not only did you want him physically and emotionally, you added a chant to your visualization. And it worked, obviously. You really need to hone and train your talent now that you’re aware of it.”

While she wasn’t going to argue that all her want and desire had been behind the urge to strip him naked, she took issue with the outcome of Bree’s conclusion. “I don’t want to be a witch! I’m not a witch.” She wore sweater sets from J.Crew, for crying out loud.

“It’s not like you have a choice. You are what you are.” And her sister looked downright gleeful about it.

“Bree, I’m telling you, I’m not a witch. I have no talent to hone. I’m unhonable.” Charlotte felt a little hysterical at the very thought of being Charlotte Murphy, the coffee-shop-owning witch.

“Now you have to go to the Jules festival on the winter solstice with us this year.”

“Not.” Bree had been trying to convince her to attend the witch ceremony for about five years and every year she flatly refused to go. Her sister gave her dire warnings about denying a piece of herself, but she usually dropped the subject after a week or two. But Charlotte had the feeling she was in trouble this year. Bree was going to hound her mercilessly now that she knew Charlotte had supposed magical powers.

Which she didn’t. She was almost sure of that. Just to test it, she focused on her teacup sitting on the table and tried to move it. She even did an up, up, up chant while mentally focusing. Nothing. Whew. Major relief. No broom shopping in her future.

“Try something else,” Bree suggested. “Try to move Abby’s necklace.”

You know, that was really annoying, how her sister could guess what she was thinking. “How did you know I was trying to move something?”

“I can sense your feelings, remember?”

“Or you just guessed because I got quiet.”

“Is that how I know you chanted ‘up’ to the teacup?” Bree’s look was smug, her black painted fingernails sliding through her equally dark hair.

A shiver rolled up Charlotte’s spine. “I was just staring at it, that’s how you knew.”

“Try to move the necklace. Please.”

“Fine, if it will prove I can’t.” Charlotte concentrated on the star dangling from Abby’s neck on a black leather strap. She pictured it swinging outward toward her in a graceful arch, suspending in the air.

And almost peed her khaki pants when the necklace did just that.

“What…”

Her entire face went hot and her heart raced as she watched that star glint in the light from the overhead chandelier, a full ten inches out from Abby’s neck. As Charlotte turned her head to the side to get a better look, terrified and fascinated simultaneously, the star turned onto its side, mimicking her motion.

“Dude,” Abby whispered, her eyes crossing as she looked down, trying to see the necklace in front of her chest.

“Charlotte,” Bree said, her voice low and awed.

Charlotte couldn’t speak, her throat tight, her mind struggling to accept what she was seeing. “How can I be doing that?” It was utterly illogical. Yet she was clearly responsible for the movement. Even she couldn’t deny that.

She didn’t like it, but she couldn’t deny it.

“I told you. It’s your magical talent. And it’s strong considering you’ve never used it before.”

Charlotte pushed back her chair quickly and stood up. The necklace plopped against Abby’s chest. “I don’t want any magic,” she said, knowing she sounded a little petulant, but feeling panicked. “I just want to be a normal family, a normal businesswoman who runs a Caribou Coffee. I want a freaking Bing Crosby Christmas just once, where everyone wears holiday sweaters and sings Christmas carols and eats sugar-and-butter-laden snowmen cookies. Is that too much to ask?”

Instead Murphy Christmas get-togethers involved tarot readings, offerings to the goddesses, and lectures from her mother on how the origins of Christian holiday traditions sprang from earlier Pagan and Druid worshipping. It was all very interesting, and she appreciated the open-mindedness of her parents, and how they wove spirituality and a respect for both nature and other humans into their daily lives. But having wassail wasn’t nearly as exciting as pie and sugar cookies, and a Yule log was never going to replace a Christmas tree. That was why she tended to go overboard with the decorations now that she had her own house. Well, now that she was living in Bree’s house, who allowed her to indulge in her love of snowmen, reindeer, nativities, and Disney character yard inflatables.

Christmas was about family, and she loved hers tremendously. But Christmas also showed very clearly how fundamentally different she was from them, and how isolated she felt sometimes as odd blonde out.

“That is a lot to ask actually. But I’m willing to have a traditional American Christmas with you—I’ll even put on a reindeer sweatshirt,” Bree said, though her face reflected her feelings on wearing emerald green cotton.

Charlotte thought Bree looked sincere, but she couldn’t believe what she was actually hearing.

“I’m not wearing any reindeer sweatshirt,” Abby said. “But I can sing Christmas songs and bake cookies.”

“Are you guys serious?” Charlotte looked at her sisters and smiled, truly touched. “You’d do that for me?” That was so sweet.

“Of course we would. We love you. If this is that important to you, we’re willing to put up with a little commercialism. I’m sure Dad will be cool with it, too, though I can’t vouch for Mom.”

“Christmas doesn’t have to be about commercialism or giving tons of overpriced gifts. I just want to be together, and for once, I want you all to understand and appreciate what I like.” Everything was always about everyone else’s interests, never hers, and she was touched beyond belief that Bree and Abby were willing to suck it up and give her a traditional Christmas celebration. “You guys are awesome to do this. It means a lot to me.”

“I just have one small request in return,” Bree said, her green eyes lifting from her teacup.

Here it came. Charlotte braced herself. “What? You want me to go the Jules festival? Fine, I can do that.”

“No. I want you to admit you’re a witch. By casting a lust spell on Will.”

Three

“WHAT? A LUST SPELL?” THAT WAS SO APPALLING, ON SO many levels, she didn’t even know where to begin.

“Oh, now that’s an awesome idea,” Abby said, sitting up straighter and tossing her hair over her shoulder.

Who was this child? Charlotte glared at her baby sister. “No, it’s not. I’m not a witch, and even if I was, why would I want to force Will into feeling lust for me? That’s just…yucky.” Humiliating. Desperate. Pathetic.

“Will wants you, Charlotte. Trust me. He just needs a push.”

Did they have to keep making this harder for her? Every day she questioned, wondered, wished that Will could feel more for her than friendship, but he didn’t, and at the end of every day she counseled herself to be content with what she had. She really didn’t need them encouraging her futile dreams.

“He loves you. I can feel it.”

“Stop it!” Charlotte was tempted to cover her ears. Bree’s words seared into her heart, inciting the dull ache there to a painful throb.

“How long have you felt this way about him?” Bree asked, her voice gentle, hand sliding across the table to touch hers.

Even though she didn’t want to do this, even though she wanted to keep all her feelings neat and tidy locked away, even though she was embarrassed to realize how long she’d suffered in unrequited love, she also wanted the comfort her sister was offering. She wanted someone else to know how hard it had been, how unsure it had made her feel about herself, her future, wondering when she would ever give it up and move on.

“Remember when my dog died?”

“Trixie?” Abby’s eyes went wide. “That was a long time ago.”

“Yeah. Six years ago. And Will came over, and he said all the right things, and he took Trixie and buried her in the yard for me.” Charlotte swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. “And I knew right then, that Will Thornton was a good guy, through and through, and that I loved him.”

Crap, she was going to cry. She wanted him so bad she could just about taste him. It was pitiful.

“Then all the more reason to do the lust spell. Don’t you want to know, once and for all, if there’s a chance for you as a couple?”

“You guys really would be a good couple, now that I think about it,” Abby said, dipping her finger into her tea and licking it. “You’re both like really nice and into hard work and justice and all that.”

Charlotte blinked. “Thanks, Abby. I think that was meant to be a compliment.” Then she sighed. “But yeah, I guess I do want to know once and for all. I mean, I already know he doesn’t feel that way about me, but I think I really need to see it in a totally obvious way. Maybe then I can figure out a way to move on, get over him. Because at this rate, I’m going to be ninety and still lusting after him.”

“Gross,” was Abby’s assessment.

“Seriously gross,” Charlotte agreed. For over five years she’d been holding her breath that someday Will would get married and start a family, and she needed to prepare herself for that inevitability.

Since she wasn’t a witch, a lust spell wasn’t going to work, and Will wasn’t going to respond to any sexual overtures without a spell. But if, for some strange reason, the zipper thing wasn’t a weird, crazy coincidence, and she did actually have some kind of magical talent, and a lust spell did work, she wasn’t sure she could resist the opportunity to just once see what sex with Will would be like. Think of it as her gift to herself as she entered a lifetime of celibacy. A girl needed something to hold on to. Sex with Will would be a memory definitely worth clinging to for the next fifty years.

“So, how exactly do I create a lust spell?” She wasn’t chanting naked in the woods in the snow. Her twin set stayed on, thank you very much. At least for the spell creation portion of the evening’s activities. After the spell went into affect on Will, well, she could only hope.

“It’s very simple, actually.” Bree leaned back in her chair, eyes narrowed. “I need to collect a few things. What are you doing tonight?”

“I have to work, then I’m going over to Will’s to help him put up his Christmas decorations. You know, his decorating is just pitiful. He doesn’t even have a full-size tree. It’s a tabletop tree.” It was probably a bachelor thing, but it made Charlotte nuts. How could he survive without a wreath on his door? A person needed priorities.

“That’s perfect. Okay, I’ll meet you at the coffee shop at nine. We’ll do the spell in the back room, then you can head over to his apartment.”

Charlotte felt a niggling of doubt about this whole plan. She was either going to get lucky or make a total ass out of herself. She’d never been much of a risk taker. “And if I do this, you’re going to let me do Christmas my way? And you’ll cooperate?”

“Absolutely.”

She was so not reassured.

BREE STEPPED INTO CARIBOU CARRYING THREE GIANT SHOPPING bags, her nose running from the cold, as she searched the room for Charlotte. Abby was grumbling behind her, equally burdened.

“You know, it seems to me like we shouldn’t even be doing this,” Abby said, trying to shake her hair off her face without using her hands, since they were out of commission at the moment, busy holding all their purchases.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re not supposed to do magic against someone’s free will.”

But that was the beauty of Bree’s plan. “But Will consented, remember? He said he loved Charlotte, said he would respond if she gave him a clear sign. Magic should be used for the purpose of good, and this is definitely a good thing.” She was quite proud of the way the whole thing was coming together. She was going to hook Will and Charlotte up if it killed her, because they truly were the perfect couple. If anyone should be married and popping out babies, it was those two. They were like Ward and June Cleaver for the twenty-first century.

“You’re an evil genius,” Abby told her.

“Thanks.” Bree noticed several people she knew, including one of her coworkers at the library, and Abby’s friend Brady Stritmeyer, who was sitting with the Tuckers—Danny; his wife, Amanda; and their daughter, Piper. There was another man with them, a stranger to Bree, and she didn’t like the look of him as she waved to the group on passing by their table.

The new guy looked pretentious and boring, wearing a pink dress shirt—Lord, what man wore a pink shirt in Cuttersville—and wire-rimmed glasses. An expensive-looking watch was on his wrist, and he had cuff links in his shirt, of all things. At Caribou on a Saturday night. Everything about him looked expensive and insufferable, and there were papers spread out in front of him, like he’d been working. He was the only one at the table who didn’t laugh or at least smile when Brady reached out and snatched Abby by the arm and pulled her down onto his lap.

Bree kept going, leaving Abby to chat for a minute. She found Charlotte behind the counter so she deposited her bags in the back room and came back to her sister. “Whenever you’ve got a minute, we’re ready.”

“Okay.” Charlotte looked nervous as hell. “Give me five minutes.”

“Sure.” Bree didn’t have any plans for the night. Since she’d broken up with her last boyfriend six months earlier, she’d been enjoying just doing a whole lot of nothing. The relationship had been emotionally and physically exhausting, constantly trying to keep up with Kevin’s mood swings and PMS-like behavior, and she was still recovering. She leaned against the counter, inhaling the coffee bean aroma. The place smelled good, she had to admit. She glanced over at Abby, who was twirling her fingers in Brady’s shaggy hair. “Hey, who’s that guy with Danny and Amanda? The uptight-looking one?”

Charlotte looked over at their table, her hands busy wiping the back counter down. “Oh, that’s their financial advisor…or is it he’s their lawyer? I don’t know, something like that, and he’s in town from Chicago.”

Figured. “Let me get the other bags from Abby and I’ll meet you in the back room.”

Her sister didn’t really answer, just bit her lip. Bree was going to have to hurry before Charlotte wimped out on her. She was not going to tolerate Charlotte screwing up her own personal happiness out of plain old fear.

After a quick hello to everyone at the table, Bree told Abby, “Come on, bring that stuff in the back.” She flashed a smile at Piper. “We bought Christmas decorations. Big, blinky ones.”

“Cool,” was Piper’s assessment. She was a gawky kid, all legs and elbows, her hair an unflattering little bob, but she was a real peach. Bree saw her almost every weekend at the library, perusing for new reading material.

“Here, you take it,” Abby said. “I’m going to the movies with Brady.”

Annoyed, Bree took the bags Abby was shoving at her. “Is that you asking permission? Because it sounded more like you telling me, which isn’t how it works.” She and Charlotte were responsible for Abby while her parents were gone, and sometimes her little sister thought she was all grown up and then some.

Abby looked defiant, but she just said, “Can I go? Brady will drop me off.”

“Can you?” Bree asked him, not really liking the way his hand was resting on her sister’s thigh, but figuring she had no right to say anything.

“Yes, ma’am,” Brady said, with more sarcasm than deference.

“Fine. Be home by midnight.” She turned to go and accidentally looked straight into the eyes of the financial advisor/lawyer. A shiver raced through her when she realized she could sense his feelings. There was disapproval radiating from him. Toward her.

“Bree, have you met Ian Carrington?” Danny said. “He’s our lawyer and a friend of Amanda’s. Ian, this is Bree Murphy, the children’s librarian over at the Cuttersville branch.”

“And tarot card reader,” Amanda added with a grin, her hand sliding down to her slightly raised stomach.

Bree had seen Amanda’s pregnancy in the cards four months earlier. She gave a wan smile at Ian, who wasn’t smiling at all. “Nice to meet you.” Not really.

Apparently he felt the same way. He just nodded. “Likewise.” But then he raised an eyebrow and glanced at her hands. “Children’s librarian, huh?”

If it were any other guy under the age of thirty-five, she’d think he was checking her left hand for a wedding ring. But she suspected he was actually looking at her multitude of sterling silver rings and her black fingernails. That disapproval floated off him again, like a noxious cloud.

Pretentious jerk. She would have him know that Onyx was the hottest nail color of the season. Witches and nonwitches alike were wearing it.

“Yes. Children’s librarian and tarot card reader.” Deal with it. “Be home by midnight, Abby, I’m serious. I’ll see you all later.”

She had a spell to cast.

CHARLOTTE LOOKED AT ALL THE BAGS THAT BREE WAS DIGGING through in bewilderment. “What is all this stuff?”

“It’s camouflage mostly. You said Will doesn’t really have any decorations. So I bought a butt-load of Christmas decorations. It’s unreal how much tacky stuff they have on the market. So I bought a bunch of stuff and you can take it over to Will’s and decorate his apartment. That way he won’t think anything of you hanging up mistletoe.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Charlotte had followed the plan until the mistletoe bit, than she had realized the plan was crap. “I’m going to look like a desperate dork if I hang mistletoe in Will’s apartment.”

Flinging herself down onto the microfiber faux suede sofa she had in her office in a soothing plum color, Charlotte bit her lip. “I can’t do it, Bree. He’s going to know.”

“Isn’t that sort of the point?” Bree emerged with a sprig of mistletoe from a florist’s box.

“That looks real.”

“Well, duh. Fake isn’t going to work. It’s the live mistletoe that holds sexual energy.”

“It’s a plant. What is sexual about that?” Yet Charlotte found herself pulling back a little when Bree waved it in her face.

Bree laughed. “It’s not going to make you spontaneously aroused or anything. You can touch it.”

She was already aroused, and had been essentially every day since the very first minute she’d met Will on her twenty-first birthday, when he’d shown up at the Rampant Lion bar with his buddies, and caught her when she’d tripped getting off her stool, the embarrassing result of alcohol consumption and a poor choice of high heels.

“I don’t need to touch it. Just tell me what to do. This whole thing is way too out there for me.” Way too out there.

“Well, the mistletoe is associated with fertility, protection, friendship, good luck, and uninhibited sexual activity.”

Hello. “Wow. Impressive little green twig. I just thought it was an excuse people used to make out.”

“That, too.” Bree pulled some ribbon out of another bag and started tying it around one of the branches. “But originally Druids used mistletoe to ward off evil spirits and to increase fertility because it stays green all winter long, even when the oak tree it grows on is dormant. Green is the color of growth and fertility.”

Good grief. “I’m not looking to be fertile!” They needed to take things one step at a time.

“It’s also the color of love and sex.”

That she’d take. Both of them. In large quantities, please.

“Which is why I bought you a green sweater to wear.” Bree finished tying off the red ribbon and pulled a cable-knit sweater out of another bag. “It’s plain and boring, just the way you like your clothes.”

How thoughtful. Charlotte rolled her eyes. Her clothes were not boring. They were classic, made from quality materials and designed to flatter her decidedly average figure. She was of average height, average weight, average backside, slightly above average bra size. She looked best in form-fitting sweaters with crisp cotton blouses underneath and a good old pair of cords or khakis and some boots with a kicky heel. Most of her sweaters were in pastels since she was blond, or occasionally when she was dressing up, she went with red. She never wore the emerald green Bree was shoving at her.

“This is furthering my conviction that I’m going to make an idiot out of myself.”

“Why? It’s not like I just gave you a push-up bra, a thong, and thigh-high stockings and told you to go for it. It’s a cable-knit sweater, loser.”

Charlotte yanked it from her sister’s hand. “You’re not being very nice to me.”

Bree stopped pawing through yet another bag and looked at her. “Hey. I just want you to be happy,” she said softly.

Shoot. Sister guilt. “I know. But you’re freaking me out with all this stuff. And I really, really think Will is going to have a heart attack, run screaming, and never speak to me again if I try to drag him under mistletoe and chant his clothes off of him.”

“No chanting in front of him—that would be a bad idea. We’re just going to load this mistletoe with a nice little hexen-symbol for lust. Then you can just pull it out and hang it up anywhere in his apartment and you’ll be good to go. He will rip his clothes off all by himself, no chanting required.”

Bree opened a pack of markers. “Now choose your symbols. Do you want sex, love, dominance, serenity, thrusting?”

Thrusting? The image of that both in actuality and how it might appear on paper rose up in Charlotte’s mind. She reached up and redid her hair knot, mouth dry. “How many can I pick?”

“As many as you want.”

“Then I’ll take them all except for the dominance.” Her friendship with Will was very balanced, and if they went beyond a platonic relationship, she wanted that aspect to remain the same. Then she added, before she totally lost her nerve, “And give me three of the thrusting ones.”

“Dang, girl,” was Bree’s opinion of that. “You got it.”

Charlotte could only sincerely hope that she would in fact be getting it before the night was over.

Four

WILL DRIED HIMSELF OFF WITH A TOWEL AND DEBATED calling Bree and asking her what the hell she had meant earlier when she’d sworn to take care of things between him and Charlotte. He’d been worrying about that promise just about every minute since, and had concluded there was really only one thing he could do.

He needed to tell Charlotte the truth about his feelings before Bree did. He was twenty-nine years old. It would be lame as hell if the woman he loved found that little fact out from her sister. Jesus, the only thing worse would be a note folded up and passed across the room.

Charlotte deserved better. She deserved him looking her straight in the eye and telling her he loved her.

Which was why he’d taken a shower in anticipation of her coming over to put up his Christmas tree. He figured a guy ought to smell good when professing love, and if Bree was at all right—which he had to admit, he was hoping she was—then maybe, just maybe, they’d wind up naked before the night was out.

In fact, he was determined they were going to get naked. If she felt the same way about him, then he wasn’t going to dance around the issue anymore. He was going to dust off his dormant seduction skills and show Charlotte where she really belonged, which was with him, in his life, in his bed. Forever.

Damn it.

He was a cop. He’d taken a bullet in the shoulder in a robbery a few years back. Why had he been such a freaking wimp when it came to Charlotte?

Because he hadn’t wanted to lose her altogether. Having half of Charlotte, as a friend, was better than not at all, so he’d settled all those years. But no more. He wanted all of her.

His hair was bristle short, so it only required a quick rub for drying then he was done with it. Pulling on his boxer briefs, he opened the bathroom door to let out the steam and heard the phone ringing.

“Crap.” If that was Charlotte canceling, he was not going to be a happy man. Or worse, the police station calling him in. He loved his job, but at the moment, he had a woman to seduce.

He grabbed the phone. “Hello?”

“Will, it’s Amanda Delmar Tucker. How are you?”

The ex–Chicago socialite turned farmer’s wife had also ventured into real estate in the past two years. Will had approached her about looking for a house for him. “I’m great, how are you? Feeling okay these days?” When he’d seen her a few weeks past, she’d been green around the gills from her pregnancy.

“Yes, the morning sickness is gone, thank God. I haven’t puked that much since I was rushing my sorority in college and I just about had to drink my weight in cocktails to prove my so-called worth. How stupid is that? Why do we go along with lame things like that when we’re eighteen? Anyway, the puking is past, and I have a house for you.”

“Really? Where is it?” He had been going slow on the house search, wanting to be in town, but not really in one of the cookie-cutter subdivisions that had popped up in the last ten years. He didn’t envision himself in a vinyl-sided box on Turkey Trail in the Pheasant Hills subdivision. He just wanted a solid house, with some character, and a place for him to toss his muddy boots by the back door. A garage for his weight bench and boxing bag. A house like the one Charlotte was living in with Bree, though maybe not so big.

“It’s the gray house on Second Street. The Weeping Lady house. Jessie Stritmeyer wants to unload it now that she bought a condo in Florida and is going snow bird on us.”

“Maybe she can say hi to my folks. They’re living down in Florida now, too.” Will immediately knew the house Amanda was talking about. It was on a street with a dozen other hundred-year-old Victorians. A five-minute walk from downtown, with big old oak trees lining the street in front of the sidewalks, the neighborhood was one of elegant wide porches and an eclectic mix of people. Families, singles, and older folks who were fifth-generation townies all lived there, along with the occasional yuppie newcomer who worked in management at the plastics plant, or the new-ager attracted to the reputation of Cuttersville as Ohio’s most haunted town.

He’d like it there. As would Charlotte.

“When can I see it?”

“Whenever you want. Jessie left the keys in the mailbox and said you can go in whenever you feel like it. I guess she trusts you not to vandalize the place since you’re a cop.”

That was heartwarming, in truth, because Will had found out over the years Jessie was a shrewd businesswoman who trusted about no one. “Alright, thanks. I’ll drop by tomorrow. I’ve never seen the inside.”

“It’s small. I lived there for two months when I first came to town. But it’s in good condition, new roof, five-year-old furnace, and a damn good price. Plus it’s charming, and all that.”

There was a knock on his door. “Cool. Thanks. I have to go, Amanda. Charlotte’s pounding on my door.”

“Alright, tell her I said hi and that I love her for bringing Caribou Coffee to Cuttersville.”

Will laughed. “I can do that.”

He hung up and called out, “Come on in, Char, I’m getting dressed.” Not waiting for her response, knowing she was comfortable letting herself in, he went back to his bedroom in search of pants. While he wanted to end the night naked, he didn’t think it would go over well if he started things out in his underwear. Could be a bit awkward.

But he did hurry, just cramming himself into a pair of jeans and pulling on a random T-shirt. When he came out, Charlotte was staggering into his apartment, carrying two shopping bags in each hand. He rushed to help her.

“What’s all this?” he asked, taking all four bags from her.

She brushed her hair off her forehead, looking a little flushed. “Christmas decorations.”

“Oh.” Will peeked in a bag. A giant glittery tabletop snowman stared back at him. “Wow, that was nice of you, sweetheart. You shouldn’t have.” Really. She shouldn’t have.

“I wanted to. You need to get in the spirit of things.” She smiled at him, and he knew he’d let her outfit his entire place in candy canes and angels, right down to his toilet paper, if she wanted. He was that whipped, and manly enough to admit it. “There are a few more bags in the car,” she added.

More? Either that was a sign of how pathetic she viewed his life, or she cared enough to spend a ridiculous amount of time and money foisting Frosties on him. He was hoping it was the latter. Charlotte was heading back to the door but he sprang into action, not wanting her rushing around in the snow on his account. Beside, he didn’t know what the hell to do with any of that stuff in the bags she’d already brought in. Decorating wasn’t something he’d picked up on in the police academy.

“I’ll get them. You stay here and start unpacking. Put everything wherever you want.” Will shoved his feet into boots sitting by the door on a mat and held his hand out for her keys.

When she put them in his hand, she gave him a strange look, head down, eyes peeking up at him from under her pale eyelashes. “Okay,” she said, and her voice was a little husky, her fingers brushing across his skin.

Holy crap.

Something had just changed between them. Bam. Just like that. It was different. Every day for ten years it had been the same—they were best friends, they cared about each other—but all of a sudden it was off. She was different. A little nervous, hesitant. Sly.

Alright then. This was good. He thought.

Will turned to the door. “I’ll be right back.” Because he was going to run.

CHARLOTTE LET OUT THE BREATH SHE’D BEEN HOLDING when Will went out his front door, his boots loud and aggressive as he obviously jogged down the stairs to the parking lot. She wasn’t sure she could do this. He’d given her a funny look when she’d handed him her keys. Like he knew she was up to something.

Which she was. She had a mistletoe sprig in one of those bags loaded up with lust symbols, and if she were smart, she’d toss it in the trash pronto before Will even came back. And she would not visualize his zipper going down ever again.

If he ever dropped his trousers in front of her it was going to be of his own free will.

Which would be never.

Argh. She was back to the beginning again.

Charlotte yanked a snowman votive out of a box and plunked it down on Will’s coffee table. She was noticing a snowman theme in Bree’s shopping. That was the third happy chunky snowman she’d pulled out in one form or another. No mistletoe in this bag. She turned and searched a different bag. Not in there, either. A quick search revealed it wasn’t in any of the four bags she had hauled into the apartment.

Would it be a bad thing if Will was carrying the bag with the lust-loaded mistletoe? Did he actually have to touch it, or if it was just in his vicinity, would it affect him? Could he be walking up the stairs, suddenly overcome with random lust, encounter the twenty-something waitress in 2B taking out her trash, and think it was her he wanted? Dang, Charlotte should have asked Bree for better instructions. All her sister had told her was to hang it up anywhere. That’s it. Nothing else to go on.

So the only thing she could really do was act normal.

Which wasn’t achieved by her yelling, “Give me those!” and yanking the final three bags out of Will’s hands the second he crossed the threshold.

“Uh…okay.” His eyebrows shot up. “Did I bring the wrong bags or something? I can take this back down if there’s something personal in them.”

Like what? Condoms or sex toys? Her face went hot. She was a wreck. An absolute appalling mess of a woman who was so in love with her best friend she was capable of mentally undoing his clothes. “Your Christmas present is in one of these.”

It was a decent save, pulled straight out of her behind. His face relaxed.

“You shopped for me already? You must really like me.” He swiped his finger over the tip of her nose and gave her a grin.

“I can live with you,” she said, because it was an auto-type response and she was trying desperately to act nonchalant, friendly, and totally nonsexual. Then she realized how exactly that sounded—like she wanted to live with him or something—and mentally kicked herself. Whirling around, she burrowed into a bag, ripping out a couple of red pot holders. Pot holders? Why the hell had Bree thought Will would want festive Christmas pot holders? Will was a guy. He probably used a dishtowel and cussed in pain when he lifted a lid.

“You’d love living with me,” he said, shaking up a snow globe and watching the flakes settle. “You could toss all my boring bachelor furniture and do an extreme home makeover.”

If he only knew how many times she had mentally decorated a house for the two of them, right down to a locker in the garage for his sports equipment and a drawer to lock his gun in. “You would be in for the shock of a lifetime if you let me into this place with the authority to decorate.” And was that her testing the waters? Because she actually felt like she was asking permission, like if he was willing to let her decorate for him, then in some way that indicated an emotional depth greater than friendship. It was a massive leap in logic.

“Why? You have good taste. Classy.” His eyes dropped down to her chest. Briefly. If she hadn’t been hyperaware, she might not have even noticed it. But there was no denying he had looked at her breasts. “Nice sweater, by the way. It fits you really well.”

The lusty green sweater. Holy crap. It was working, because in eight years Will had never once commented on how her clothes sat on her body. “Thanks. It’s new.”

“I know. You’ve never worn it before.” He glanced down at her chest again, she was certain of it. “Green looks good on you.”

“No, it doesn’t. Not really. I look better in red or pastels. But thank you.” Where the hell was that mistletoe? The whole situation was making her nervous as hell. She couldn’t go through with it. She couldn’t sleep with Will to satisfy her own curiosity if he was doing it under the influence of magic. She would be way too aware the entire time that what she was experiencing was false.

“I think you look good in everything, actually. Except for black. You’re too…feminine for black.”

Okay. Charlotte glanced over at the man she’d known for nearly a decade. The mistletoe must go. He was acting random and strange. And he was giving her a look that she knew. Couldn’t misunderstand. She wasn’t naïve nor was she clueless. That was a look of lust. It was in his rich, brown eyes. It was in the way he was standing, legs slightly apart in his jeans, the T-shirt straining over his muscular chest. He’d gone out for the bags without bothering to put on a coat, despite the foot of snow outside, which she found highly sexy. He’d always had very short hair, and it went well with the chiseled cheekbones, stubborn jaw, and the ever-present five o’clock shadow. Will was rugged, the epitome of masculinity, and for the first time in her memory, he was looking at her the way a man looks at a woman when he wants to get in her pants and do bad boy things.

Which aroused, frightened, and confused her. So when in doubt, avoid. “Where would you like to put your Christmas tree?” she asked him, standing straight up and assessing his apartment. “And why haven’t you bought more furniture?” He only had one sofa, a paltry end table, a coffee table, and a flat-screen TV. Half the room was empty. And he had always eaten his meals on the couch or at the breakfast bar because he had no table and chairs. “You’ve been here almost five years, and you said you were going to decorate about two years ago.”

“I didn’t say decorate.” He tossed the snow globe up in the air and caught it. “I said I was going to get new furniture. Men don’t decorate. They buy stuff and put it in their apartments.”

“Whatever you want to call it, you still haven’t done it.” Charlotte picked up the remote for his iPod and turned it on, searching the menu for Christmas music. He didn’t appear to have any. Big surprise.

“Maybe I’ve been waiting for a woman to help me pick it out.”

What the hell was that supposed to mean? He wanted a girlfriend? He had a girlfriend in mind?

“Know anyone who could help me out?”

“What, decorators? Probably.” Will was walking toward her, slow and steady, that look all over his face again. He was confusing her, and she didn’t know what to think, so she backed up slightly.

“I can’t afford to pay much. I was kind of hoping she’d do it out of the kindness of her heart, and so we can spend time together.”

“Did you have someone in mind?” Charlotte wiped her sweaty palms on the front of her jeans, suddenly clued in as to where this was going. Possibly. Maybe. She hoped. Or feared.

“Yep.” He was right in front of her, and the only piece of furniture of any size was somehow right behind her, trapping her against the back of it.

She leaned away from him from the waist up, but he just slid in closer, his legs trapping both of hers.

“I want you.”

Hello. How many times had she wished he would say something like that? Now he had, and he merely meant he wanted her decorating services. Something was really wrong with that. Though honestly, he didn’t look like he had window treatments on his mind.

“I never claimed to be an interior designer.”

“I bet you have plenty of ideas. And you know what I would like. You know me better than anyone.” His hand slipped around her waist.

He was touching her. He was holding her. He was really, really close to her, so close she could hear his breathing and smell his aftershave. Feel the hard press of his thigh against hers. Yep, he was holding her up close and personal. And her heart was going to crawl up her throat and choke her. Crap, she just wanted to relax and enjoy it. But it was wrong, wrong, wrong. It was all those sex symbols she’d drawn and tucked inside the mistletoe. It wasn’t real.

Yet she just couldn’t bring herself to shove him away. After all, this wasn’t his fault and she didn’t want to make him feel bad, or embarrass him. It’s not like anything really inappropriate was happening. They were just cozy up against each other. So he was brushing his finger down her cheek. Big deal. They were friends. They touched. It was normal. Friends hugged, too. They kissed occasionally. Hello. Good-bye. Good luck. Missed you.

But not like that. Holy moly macaroni, Will had closed that little sliver of a space between them and had brushed his lips over hers. The first time was soft, quick, gone before she had barely registered it had happened. But then he was back again, and this time he wasn’t playing around. His mouth came down firm, intense, taking her mouth in a hot, confident kiss that had her automatically responding, kissing back, desire igniting in every inch of her body. His grip on her waist tightened. She was too stunned to do anything but close her eyes and enjoy the moment. He tasted better than she could have ever expected, and the man knew what to do with his tongue.

There was no thrusting or pushing or awkwardness, just smooth, coaxing strokes of his tongue over hers, his warm, big body enveloping her everywhere. It was a hot and glorious contact that she let drag on and on, even when his hands dropped down and cupped her backside lightly. It was all good. It made sense to her when her eyes were closed and her lips were so happy, doing a delicious dance with Will. Everything seemed perfectly natural for a minute or two while her mind was mush under the influence of lust and longing.

But then his fingers brushed lower, down between her legs, from the back no less, in a blatantly sexual intimacy that ripped a gasp from her mouth, and sent a warm rush from her inner thighs. He’d made her wet. With just a kiss and a little butt groping.

And it had taken a lust spell to get him to so much as lip lock with her.

Charlotte broke the kiss, the embrace, and whatever else you wanted to call the sensual cloud she’d been floating in, and ducked under Will’s arm to get the hell away. She was cheap and easy and she was in love with him. It would be wrong, wrong, wrong, with a capital W to sleep with him.

Will wiped his bottom lip as he turned, giving her a slow, sexy smile. “Where you going, Charlotte?”

At least she was pretty sure it would be wrong to have sex with him.

“That was feeling really good to me, and I wasn’t finished.”

Maybe it wasn’t wrong. If he liked it.

A quick glance at the front of his jeans showed he liked it very much, thank you.

Five

WILL WAS FEELING OPTIMISTIC. ALONG WITH TURNED ON, hot and bothered, and good old-fashioned horny. Charlotte had let him kiss her. She hadn’t balked or pinched her lips together or wrinkled her nose. Not only had she let him kiss her, she’d done some mighty nice kissing back, including touching the tip of his tongue with her own. And she hadn’t seemed to mind his hands on her ass, if the way she had been pressing up against him was any indication.

She’d run eventually, but he had expected that. That was workable, fine, something he could overcome. As long as she was attracted to him, interested in taking their friendship to the next level, Will could deal with a case of nerves. But the minute he had pulled her shopping bags out of the trunk of her car and seen the mistletoe lying on top, tied with a ribbon and ready for hanging, he had known that Bree was right. Charlotte did feel something for him more than friendship and the mistletoe he’d scrunched up and shoved into his front pocket was proof. Why else would she buy mistletoe to hang in his place if she didn’t want him to kiss her?

He was feeling so pleased that he didn’t even mind that she didn’t answer him at all when he told her wasn’t finished kissing her, just dove back into her shopping bags with gusto, clearly flustered.

“I think your tree should go in front of the living room window. We’ll move your coffee table over there and set it on top. That way everyone driving by on the road can see it, too.”

“Good thinking,” he said, leaning against the couch, just wanting to watch her for a minute. Charlotte was such a beautiful woman. Her beauty was fresh and natural, and while she cared about her appearance and took care of herself, she didn’t primp and fuss and overprocess. She was also an intriguing blend of confidence and modesty, ambition and shyness, and he appreciated, enjoyed that about her.

“I brought my iPod, too,” she said, yanking it out of her purse and holding it up in front of her like a shield. Her cheeks were flushed pink. “Christmas music. I figured you wouldn’t have any.”

“Wonderful.” Will started toward her, but she moved again, practically jogging to the speaker he had sitting on his end table. “Charlotte.”

“Hmm?” Her back was to him as she switched his player for hers. “Jingle Bells” blared out into his living room. “Oh, too loud. Sorry.”

She bent over a little to adjust the volume, and Will almost groaned. Charlotte’s ass in a pair of jeans was a beautiful thing. His mouth went dry just looking at the way the denim hugged her curves, especially at the apex of her thighs. “Are you just going to ignore the fact that we kissed each other?”

The song switched to “The Happy Little Elf.” Now that was sexy. Not. He moved right up behind her, needing to kill the distracting music.

Charlotte whirled around and held the remote against her chest. “Yes, I was actually totally going to ignore the fact that we…you know.”

“Kissed?” He almost laughed. She looked so embarrassed, you’d think they had done something downright kinky instead of just swapped spit for a minute.

She just nodded.

Will eased the remote from her hand and pointed it over her shoulder, shutting the music off. “I don’t want to ignore it. I want to kiss you again.”

“Why?” Her breath was coming in little urgent gasps, her hands still across her breasts even without anything to hold, and her chest rose and fell rapidly.

“Because it feels good.”

“We’re supposed to be decorating your Christmas tree.”

“We can do that, too.” He reached out and touched her cheek.

She jerked and tried to move away from him, clearly panicked.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her to a halt, then wrapped his arms around her. Giving her a soft kiss, he said, “Hey, what’s the matter? It’s me. Talk to me.”

Her eyes closed briefly, then she opened them and met his gaze. Her blue eyes were troubled. “What are we doing here?” she asked.

“We’re about to make love, Charlotte.” There. He’d said it. No going back.

A strange little squeak came out of her mouth that he found incredibly cute. “We are?”

“Yep.” Nothing he wanted more. Will lifted her hand and kissed her fingers, one by one. “Please say that I can.”

Her skin was soft, her hand trembling a little. She smelled good, a soft fruity perfume scent, and he could feel the tension in her body. He wanted her to relax, so he stayed that way himself, nice and loose, and allowing a good foot of space between them. Lacing his fingers through hers, he leaned forward and brushed his lips over hers. She had a creamy, even complexion, her fair skin the only thing she shared in common with her sisters physically. Will loved the softness of it, the unblemished perfection of her jawline, adored her tiny pink lips, and the perky upturn at the bottom of her nose. She was a truly beautiful woman, inside and out, and he was a lucky bastard to have her as a best friend.

He was also an ungrateful bastard, because he wanted more. Burying his free hand in her hair, he kissed her jaw, the corners of her mouth, her neck.

“Will…”

Maybe it was meant to be a protest, but since she didn’t follow it up with any rejection, or any body language that indicated she wanted him to stop, he choose to take it as a pleasure thing. Especially since her hand pulled from his, but she grabbed on to his waist, hooking her fingers through his belt loops.

He dipped his tongue into her ear and she gave a startled moan. Music to his ears. Better sounding than the corny Christmas songs she was trying to shovel down his throat. Hands free, Will went back to holding her ass the way he had been earlier, though tighter this time, pulling her forward, bumping her jeans against his in a rhythmic little grind that made his erection downright hurt. Wanting her was the freakin’ understatement of the century. He wanted to eat her, to get inside her, to own her body with his, and to show Charlotte everything she meant to him.

It was strange to know her so well, to know her mannerisms, her laugh, her facial expressions, and hand gestures, yet to not know this part of her, the sexual side. To realize that there was something so elemental and huge that they had never seen in each other. Her responses were surprising him. He had expected tentativeness on her part, assumed he would have to coax her to respond, because Charlotte was a thinker. She was successful for the very reason that she was never impulsive. Yet she wasn’t showing the least sign of hesitation, despite her earlier words. She was now moving her hips of her own volition, and she had arched her neck to give him better access. Her hands had made their way around the back of his jeans and were firmly gripping right and left. Not just holding, she was actually copping quite a feel off him, and it was driving his desire even higher.

Yanking her sweater down at the neck in total disregard for the fact that she’d told him it was new and he’d probably just stretched it to hell and back, Will sucked the swell of her breast above her white satin bra. Damn. He wanted more and so did she, given the way she was moving restlessly between his thighs and making little sounds of encouragement. It wasn’t classy, but it wasn’t hard to peel the front of her bra back and expose her nipple. Barely allowing himself a glance, Will flicked his tongue over it for a quick taste, then gave in to temptation, and completely enclosed her with his mouth.

Charlotte almost left her skin when Will sucked on her nipple. She had spent plenty a night visualizing just such a thing, imagining how it would feel, and planning her sexy and suave response. But she could never have known it would feel like fire and ice, like an orgasm and ice cream all at once, or that she would blurt out, “Holy shit!” instead of something witty and urbane.

It wasn’t pretty, but it was exactly how she felt. Forcing her eyes open, she stared into Will’s brown hair, brain trying to convince her that this was actually happening. She and Will were getting it on standing up in his apartment with one hundred or so snowmen piled around them and his Christmas tree not even assembled yet.

Crazy but true.

She needed to get a grip. Literally. If she didn’t grab on to something besides his very fine butt, she was going to fall over. She needed to hold on to the table, but first she wanted just one teeny tiny little touch across the front of his jeans on her way past. If he was going to town on her chest—which she was really grateful he was—then surely she could just squeeze and take measure of what he had to offer. Well on her way to doing just that, she got caught on something by his front pocket.

Glancing down, she saw her finger had looped through red ribbon. “What’s this?” She pulled back from Will to get a better look.

“What? Who cares?” He tried to pry back down the bra cup that had sprung back into place, but Charlotte stood straight up, recognizing what she was looking at.

It couldn’t be. She yanked hard.

But it was.

He had the flipping mistletoe in his pocket.

“Where did you get this?” She dangled it in front of his face, horrified. He’d had the stinking mistletoe right next to his penis, of all things. That had to be seriously bad. And an obvious explanation for why he had kissed her, something he had never even hinted at before. For why he was even now reaching for her chest again.

“It was in one of the shopping bags,” he said, pushing it out of the way and trying to kiss her again.

Charlotte dodged the lip lock. Her heart was pounding and she felt slightly ill. The poor man had no idea she was manipulating him into wanting her. She was evil and selfish.

“Why was it in your pocket?”

“I grabbed it thinking I could hold it up and steal a kiss.” He grinned. “Turns out I didn’t even need it.”

Suddenly it seemed like Will had twelve hands and three mouths. He had a grip on her again and was nuzzling her ear, which was really distracting. The mistletoe was crushed between them, emitting a soft evergreen scent. “Will,” she said, gathering every ounce of willpower she had. This had to stop.

“Hmm?” He made a sexy little sound, a cross between a growl and a purr as he nipped at her bottom lip.

It was so unexpected and arousing, that Charlotte shuddered, letting the ecstasy flood over her for just a tiny stolen second. Then she corralled her resistance and, in a move out of pure desperation, yanked her arm free from its position between their chests and pitched the mistletoe clear across the room, where it skittered to a stop in the kitchen.

He briefly glanced over in the direction she’d thrown. “What are you doing?” But he didn’t really sound like he cared all that much. His eyes were on her breasts again.

Charlotte grabbed his cheeks and tipped his head up. “We need to talk.”

She was squeezing his face kind of hard and his lips were bulging forward. “What?” he said, speech mumbled from her tight grip.

“This way you’re feeling…you know, attracted to me. It’s because of the mistletoe. Bree showed me how to put a lust spell on it.” Charlotte winced and waited for his reaction.

“What?” he said again, looking at her blankly, his fingers resting on the neckline of her sweater, his intent clearly to pull it back down. “What the hell are you talking about?”

It sounded a little strange in retrospect. Letting go of his face, Charlotte pried her sweater out of his grip and pulled the neck back up, feeling more than a little bare, both literally and figuratively. “See, Bree thinks we’re witches, right? You know that.”

His eyebrow went up. “Yeah. So?”

There was just no reasonable way to explain this. “So she wants me to admit it, and in return she’ll wear a reindeer sweater for Christmas.” Not that Bree’s clothes were the slightest bit relevant to the conversation at hand, but Charlotte was avoiding having to say out loud that she wanted Will in the worst way.

“Okay. Can’t picture your sister in holiday gear, but whatever. And you’re actually willing to admit you’re a witch? That doesn’t seem like you.”

“Well…I didn’t have to say or do anything so much as I had to cast a spell. Which I thought wouldn’t work, because I really didn’t think I was witch. So I cast a lust spell on that mistletoe for you, knowing you wouldn’t react to it, then I could show Bree I’m not a witch at all. But you did react to it. So I am a witch and you’re just feeling desire for me because of the spell. It’s all not real, this…physical attraction for me; it’s the lust spell.”

His face was still really, really close to hers. It was a good long five seconds before he responded. Then he said carefully, “Why would you try to cast a lust spell on me?”

Oh, shoot. She was going to have to admit it. There was nothing for it. Charlotte swallowed hard and whispered, “Because I wanted you to want me. The way that I want you.”

There it was. He could do with it as he saw fit. Charlotte wanted to toss her dinner but she just sucked in a breath and waited for the blow.

Will touched her cheek. “Sweetheart.”

Tears popped into her eyes. Damn it, she was going to embarrass herself by crying, but the way he said that, so sweet, so tender, it was like he was touched, and needed to let her down easy. It was awful, yet so like him. He’d never hurt her intentionally, and she’d put him in this awkward position.

“The mistletoe had nothing to do with me kissing you.”

That wasn’t what she expected him to say. “What do you mean? Of course it did.”

“No, it didn’t. I kissed you because I wanted to. Because I want you. Sexually. And I have for a long, long time.”

She had fallen and bumped her head. She was dreaming. She had accidentally ingested hallucinogenic drugs without being aware of it. She had entered an alternative universe or fallen into a virtual reality world. Because it sounded like Will had just said he wanted her, too, and that was just impossible.

“No, you don’t.”

He laughed. “Yes, I do. And I’m damn glad to hear you feel the same way. Not to mention flattered that you would try to cast a lust spell on me. But honey, that wasn’t at all necessary because I’ve been lusting after you for years.”

“Years?” Was that her voice? She was downright squeaking. But Will was freaking her out. “But you’ve never once tried to do anything…you never tried to kiss me or anything. Are you sure it’s not the spell?”

She’d hate it and drop to the ground and kick and scream if it was the spell from hell, but she had to be sure. There was no way she could allow herself to get all excited and worked up thinking there was a future for her and Will, then have it yanked away. She would, quite simply, die if that were the case. Overdramatic, maybe. But still the truth.

“I did try to kiss you once five years ago. Don’t you remember? You gave me such a look of horror that I just flat out stopped. I thought you weren’t interested at all, that being friends is all you ever wanted.”

“You never tried to kiss me!” She would remember that. And she wouldn’t have pulled back. God, what had she missed? It wasn’t like a kiss attempt could really be mistaken for anything else, like reaching for a napkin, or pulling a stray hair off her face. It was impossible. She would have known.

“It was when I got shot.”

One of the worst days of her life, second only to when her grandmother had died. Will had responded to a robbery alone, since Cuttersville’s police force was small. They did all their patrolling solo, and that night he’d encountered a desperate twenty-year-old addict trying to break into the pharmaceutical supplies at the drugstore. He’d shot Will in the shoulder, but Will had still managed to restrain and handcuff him before calling for backup. Charlotte had gotten the call from Will’s mom, who was still living in town at the time, and she’d met them up at the hospital. “What about when you got shot?” Just the memory of the fear she’d felt before knowing he was okay made her mouth go hot.

“I tried to kiss you. In the hospital. I had one of those epiphanies, you know, from facing potential death, where I thought, ‘Hey, I love Charlotte, what am I waiting for?’ But you looked at me like I had lost my mind, so I let it drop.” He had stepped back, putting space between them, and he shrugged, looking a little sheepish.

Now it wasn’t just her mouth that was hot, it was her whole body, head to toe and every speck in between. She did remember, after all. “I thought you were hopped up on pain killers and didn’t know what you were doing. I thought maybe you were dreaming. You were muttering incoherently. And did you just say that you love me?”

He nodded. Then he took her hand, his touch tender, his thumb smoothing over her skin. “Charlotte, I love you, totally and completely. As a friend, yes, but it’s more than that…I love you the way a man loves a woman.”

Charlotte was speechless, a big old grapefruit-size lump in her throat preventing her from swallowing or speaking. Not that she had formulated a coherent response anyway. She couldn’t really see, either, because tears had completely blurred her vision. So she stood there watery and wordless and shook her head, overwhelmed. This was real. He was real. The love she felt was real, and now he was telling her she had his, too.

Squeezing his hand back and breathing really hard, she managed to force out, “I love you, too,” before dissolving into full-blown sobbing. She didn’t mean to. Didn’t want to. But the emotion she felt, the relief, the joy, the hope, was overwhelming, and she just lost it.

Will pulled her close against his chest. “Shh, sweetheart, it’s alright. It’s all good. These are happy tears, right?”

She nodded, face squashed against his T-shirt. “Uh-huh.” Wiping her tears on the cotton of his shirt, she sucked in air and tried to get control of herself.

“Alright, then.” He tipped her head up, forcing her to look at him. “Then can I make love to you?”

Hell, yes. “Absolutely.” Only she couldn’t stop herself from darting a quick glance over to his kitchen, where the mistletoe was lying.

He grinned. “Should I go get it? And how exactly did you cast a spell on that thing anyway?”

“It doesn’t matter. Just leave it.” Bree would be disappointed that it hadn’t worked, but Charlotte couldn’t say she was. Will wanting her all on his own was far better. There was really no comparison.

“Sure it does. I’m curious.” He went over to the kitchen and picked it up. Groaning when he made contact, his eyes rolled back in his head like he was suddenly experiencing intense pleasure.

Charlotte was horrified for a split second, then Will laughed.

“Just kidding.” He winked at her.

“Not funny.” Though he was so damn cute, it wasn’t like she could even work up any real irritation. He loved her. He. Loved. Her. She was going to be flying on that for about a month.

“Yes, it is.” Will was inspecting the mistletoe. “What’s this white ribbon for? It’s all twisted inside the branches and you drew little pictures on it.”

“Those are symbols.” Charlotte crossed her arms and tried to be nonchalant about the whole thing.

“Symbols for what?” He twirled it around, running his finger down the ribbon. “This is a blue wavy line. What’s that mean?”

“Serenity. In our relationship.”

He glanced over at her, looking touched. “That’s very sweet.”

“Your friendship brings me happiness.” They were only a few feet apart, but Charlotte felt the energy between them, the new awareness of each other, a sort of strumming electric attraction and excitement, a giddy sense of anticipation and security. They were no longer just friends. They were about to become lovers and they were in love. It was a powerful moment, just locking eyes with Will and letting him see the truth.

“Yours does, too, Charlotte, more than I can say.” He cleared his throat and tapped the next symbol. “This is a crazy-looking H, or I don’t know, like a arch of some kind. What’s that mean?”

“That’s the bluebird of happiness. It’s for love.”

Will tilted his head slightly. “This sounds more like a love spell than a lust spell.”

She had to be honest, with him and herself. “Maybe it was both.”

“I think they really go hand in hand, don’t they? One works best with the other.”

“That’s true.” And she loved him even more for understanding.

“So what’s lusty on here?”

“The hexagram is the symbol for sex.” Which she wanted to actually be doing instead of standing there talking about it.

“Okay, you have two of those. And three male symbols.”

Yes, she did. Charlotte felt her inner thighs moisten, the tight ache she’d been feeling all night building and growing in anticipation. “Those are the phallus of thrusting symbols.”

Will sucked in his breath, his look so hot, so aroused, that it felt like he was stroking her from across the room, like his fingers were already inside her body, invading and pleasuring her.

“Are they now? And you felt the need to put three of these on here? More than anything else, I see.” Will started toward her, stalking her, an impressive erection already pressing against the front of his jeans. “Why is that, sweetheart? Are you saying you want me to thrust my cock up inside you?”

Hello. Charlotte’s nipples tightened and she shifted restlessly. “Yes, that’s what I’m saying. That’s what I was hoping for, even when I thought it could never happen.”

His hand brushed against her waist, thigh rustling against hers. “It’s going to happen. Right now.”

Six

WILL HAD INTENDED TO TAKE IT SLOW, SENSUAL, SWEET FOR their first time. But then Charlotte had blushed, her cheeks pink, her lips wet and parted, and she had just tossed off that admission of having put phallus-thrusting symbols on her mistletoe ribbon.

He’d heard “phallus” and “thrusting,” along with her wanting him, and his brain had ceased to function. All commands were coming from below the belt now, which was why he just about attacked Charlotte, hands sliding all over her thighs, her ass, her waist, while he kissed her hard, sucking and tugging and thrusting. Her hands went into his hair, gripping hard, as they rocked and slapped together, tongues entwining, skin hot, breath rushed and urgent. Pulling back slightly, Will ripped his shirt off over his head and dropped it to the floor.

Her eyes widened and she dropped her touch to his chest, stroking over him with such appreciation and curiosity that Will groaned. Her lips were wet and shiny from his kisses, skin flushed with pleasure, legs spreading apart as she tried to get closer to him. Charlotte had a raw sensuality that he had never seen, never even guessed existed, and he wanted to see more, wanted to see how hot she could get, how far she’d go. They were going to have a hell of a lot of fun exploring that in the next few months.

Shoving up her sweater, Will pulled and tugged until it popped off over her head, her head sticking up, her arms flailing as she tried to get free. Then to his total amazement, she reached back and unhooked her bra and tossed it to the side, exposing her very lovely breasts, bare shoulders, and flat belly to him. Will forgot to breathe.

Then he couldn’t prevent a guttural growl from coming out of his mouth as he bent over and took her nipple into his mouth, cupping the soft weight of her breasts with his hands. She gasped, pinching his shoulders. That sound, the way she expressed her pleasure, her voice the same one he knew so well, yet so different, was as big of a turn-on as the taste of her tight flesh under his tongue.

Sliding his hand down, he caressed the front of her jeans, back and forth, feeling the soft give of her body beneath his touch, regretting the thickness of denim. It was just a hint, a tease, so he unpopped the snap and tore her jeans and panties down all in one desperate motion. Lacking in any sort of romance or finesse, definitely, but he was about to suffer bodily harm from excessive arousal. He’d make it up to her later.

Charlotte was obviously of a same mind, because she gave him a hand by stepping out of her jeans. Kicking them to the side, she dropped down to her knees, before he even got a glance at her nakedness. Her knees. Hands reaching for his fly.

Holy shit. He hoped he knew where this was going.

It was. In two seconds she had his cock out and in her mouth. No hesitation, no playing around, no lick, no flick, just deep down into her throat, enclosing him in her slick, moist heat. He grabbed her head for balance and closed his eyes. “Damn, sweetheart. You’re killing me.”

She pulled back completely, mouth shiny, eyes hooded and still trained on his erection. “I’ve been wanting this for a long time.”

Then she enclosed him again, forcing a quick, hot rhythm on him that had his balls tightening and his teeth grinding. It was so fucking good, but too much, too soon. He jerked away, and shoved his own jeans down and dropped onto his knees. Charlotte rested in front of him, lips puffy, chin glistening with moisture, her chest pink with excitement and exertion. Giving her a searing kiss, Will put his arm around her shoulder and urged her back onto the carpet.

Pausing to take a look, to savor the moment, to run his gaze over her beautiful, sexy body, Will whispered, “You are amazing.”

She gave him a brief smile and mouthed, “I love you,” soundlessly.

It about tore his heart out, and he felt the most overwhelming sense of tenderness and gratitude toward her. He couldn’t imagine his life without Charlotte. He wanted her forever, as his, body and soul. Time to slow this down, get control, make love to her slowly and completely.

Then she spread her legs in a seductive offer.

All plans went out the proverbial window. He accepted that he was a selfish brute as he trailed his fingers through her damp curls, swirling around her clit, and opening her for him. She gave little gasps of pleasure and wiggled her hips, drawing her legs farther apart and exposing her pink, moist sex to him. Will put his palms flat on the carpet, moved between her legs, and thrust inside Charlotte, filling her completely.

He paused to regroup, mouth dry, erection throbbing at the first feel of her body wrapping around his, at the sight of her beneath him, chest heaving, eyes rolling back in pleasure, hair damp with sweat, nipples peaked and deep red. He wanted to savor, but he was too on the edge, too out of control.

And when she said, “Will, please, God, you feel so good,” he gave up trying to stop himself. He just pounded into her, over and over, gritting his teeth and closing his eyes. She made frantic little sounds of pleasure, her cries getting louder each time he sank inside her, and Will knew she was almost ready, felt her legs squeeze around his thighs and her inner walls tense, constricting on his cock. Then she came, back arching up, eyes wide in shock, cry petering off into a strangled gasp, her hips stilling, even as he felt the tremors deep inside her. It was beautiful, surreal, arousing as hell, and he stroked through her orgasm and straight into his.

Charlotte watched Will above her, and couldn’t imagine that she could ever love him more than she did. She had wanted this, hoped for this, hell, pined for him and a moment like this, but never could she have imagined that when it actually happened, she would feel this whole, this loved, this completely and deeply happy.

Almost as good as the sex itself was the way he collapsed on the carpet and pulled her tight in next to him, her legs entangled with his. Almost. The sex had been really hot. But it was sweet and comfortable, serene, lying naked with him, the hard planes of his chest warm beneath her hand, his body still partially inside hers.

“I completely forgot about a condom,” he murmured, his hand stroking her back slowly. “I’m sorry, that was totally irresponsible.”

“It’s okay, I forgot, too.” And truthfully, Charlotte wasn’t worried about it. She knew Will and where he’d been and it wasn’t anything to be concerned about. As for getting pregnant, she was twenty-nine years old, a successful business owner, and involved with her best friend, the man she loved. A child wouldn’t be a crisis. In fact, she got a little warm and fuzzy inside at the thought of starting a family with him someday. “Would it be awful to say I’m glad we didn’t have latex between us for our first time?”

“It’s not awful, considering I was thinking the same thing, but it sure as hell isn’t politically correct.” He sighed, and kissed the top of her head. “Damn, sweetheart, that was a good time.”

She laughed, feeling too satisfied to move. Ever. Despite a shiver that went through her from being naked in December on the floor.

But Will noticed and said, “You cold? Let me grab a blanket.” He slid out from under her and walked toward his bedroom.

Charlotte rolled onto her side, resting her head on her arm so she could have a clear view of his tight butt and muscular thighs, his strong back, and chiseled forearms. Will was a fine man in more ways than one, starting with his intelligence and compassion, and ending with that naked ass in front of her. It made her want to lick her lips and start all over again.

But he disappeared into his room, and when he returned a minute later, he was wearing jeans and holding a blanket in his hand. Her disappointment at having him covered was profound. He looked amazing in jeans, she’d give him that, but she’d been gawking at him clothed for eight years. She’d wanted to linger a bit on his nudity, really get a good eyeful before he covered it all back up. She would have to content herself with the knowledge that she’d be seeing a whole lot of his bare body from there on out.

“I know it’s freezing outside,” he said as he dropped onto the floor and spread the blanket over her and brushed her hair back off her shoulder. “But would you want to go for a ride? There’s something I’d like to show you.”

She had absolutely no interest whatsoever in getting dressed and going outside in the snow and freezing wind, but if he had something to show her, she wanted to see it. “Sure.” Trailing her fingers over his bare chest, she smiled at him. “Then when we get back, we can finish putting your tree up. And other things.”

“What other things?” He grinned.

“I’ll leave it to your imagination.”

“I have a very good imagination. I’ve spent a good long time picturing all the things I can do to you.” His eyes had darkened.

Sounded perfect to her. “Then let’s go. Sooner we go, sooner we get back.”

WILL LIKED THE GRAY HOUSE. IT WAS SMALL, AMANDA hadn’t exaggerated about that, but it was double the size of his apartment, and it was structurally sound. It had two bedrooms, and a funny little extra room that must have been an outside sleeper porch originally, one and a half baths, and a kitchen, dining room, and living room. Lots of thick woodwork, a brick fireplace, and an old milk chute cut out in the kitchen wall.

“What do you think, sweetheart?” Will stopped in the living room and looked at Charlotte. Her opinion meant everything in the world to him, because he had every intention of seeing her living in the house with him.

She had walked through the whole house with him, quiet, but eyes sharply inspecting everything. She’d seemed surprised he was considering buying a house, and maybe a little offended he hadn’t told her. It hadn’t been a secret, he just hadn’t been sure. He’d been waiting for something before he made that big investment. Now he knew just what that was. He’d been waiting for Charlotte. To make the decision to buy a house together.

He’d almost given up on that dream. But now here it was, right in front of him, everything he had ever wanted.

“It’s cute, charming. I like it, Will.” She ran her hand over the fireplace mantel, still the original oak. “It has character. Good bones.”

“Good. I’m glad you think so, because I like it, too.” Will searched for the right words to convey to Charlotte what she meant to him, how she was his family, his life, his heart. “And I only want to buy this house if you can picture yourself living in it with me.”

Her head whipped around and her eyes met his, wide with shock. “Excuse me?”

Will didn’t even hesitate. They’d wasted enough time, he didn’t intend to waste any more. “Charlotte, I know this is moving fast, but we know each other better than a lot of people who’ve been dating for years. I am completely and totally in love with you…You are my very best friend, you are amazing, and I want you to live with me. In this house, or a different one, if you don’t like it. But I want you with me, now, forever.”

He closed the two feet between them and took her hand. “Will you marry me?”

Even he hadn’t known he was going to say that last bit. But it just came out, right and strong.

Charlotte thought Will’s proposal was the most beautiful thing she’d ever heard in her entire life. It should have felt surreal, strange, that after all those years of just being friends, they would leap straight to a commitment, but it didn’t. She knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Will Thornton was the man for her. And now he was going to be her husband.

Tears popped into her eyes and she touched his cheeks, studying his strong, handsome face. “Yes,” she said, nodding her head rapidly. “God, yes, I will marry you.”

Then she was kissing him, or maybe he was kissing her, she wasn’t sure which, and it didn’t really matter because they were together, as one, and it was a kiss of pent-up love, past frustrations, present passion, and future happiness.

“I love you,” he whispered, pulling back a hairbreadth.

“I love you, too.” And all the amazing things his tongue was suddenly doing to her neck.

“This house still has some furniture in it since it was a rental,” he said as his tongue splayed across the swell of her breast, her neckline stretched down again. “Couch or bed?”

“Will! This is Mrs. Stritmeyer’s house…we shouldn’t.”

“So? We’re buying it, aren’t we? It’s going to be our house soon.”

Their house. Holy crap. She almost had an orgasm just at the thought of that. Waking up with Will. Eating dinner every night with him. Sharing a bed, a shower…That image went straight to her inner thighs. “Shouldn’t we look at other houses?” It was a struggle to feel practical when his hand was sliding over her clitoris through her jeans, but she forced the words out.

“I did. Didn’t like anything else.” Then he buried his head back in her breasts. “Besides, don’t you know the story? This is the honeymoon house. The original owner built it for his bride.”

How romantic was that? She almost melted right then and there, but Charlotte had heard a different version. “I heard it’s haunted…that the lady cries in the mirror upstairs because her husband left. That’s downright sad.”

“She cries from missing him because they were so in love. That’s romantic. We can bring love back to this house, sweetheart.” He peeled her bra down and licked her nipple. “Starting right now.”

“Okay.” She did like the house. And it was the spot where Will had proposed. And he was doing really amazing things to her nipple, which made really just about everything make sense. “Let’s buy it.”

“It might be cool living in a haunted house, as long as this ghost isn’t yanking down my zipper like the one in your garage.”

Whoops. Guess she had never really discussed that with him. She really wasn’t at all sure how he was going to like the idea of having a witch for a wife. Not that she was exactly witchy, but still, he might not be comfortable with her strange new ability to levitate objects. She wasn’t comfortable with it, come to think of it.

“That wasn’t a ghost, baby.”

“Well, something did it. I didn’t imagine it. Or the fact that someone grabbed my butt.”

Had she done that, too? Charlotte didn’t see how that was possible, but at the same time, she’d been waxing quite poetic about his ass right at that particular moment. “You see, the thing is, you know how Bree thinks I’m a witch?”

“Uh-huh.” His mouth switched to her other breast.

Like it wasn’t hard enough to force out the words. He was seriously distracting her.

“Bree says I can move objects. She says I unzipped your pants with my mind.”

Will went completely still, tongue on her nipple. His breath blew hot on her slick skin, making her nipples firm even more. “Say that again.”

She really wanted to just forget the whole thing and go back to foreplay, but he had obviously gotten distracted by the whole “I’m a paranormal freak” thing she’d just thrown at him. “I unzipped your pants. I was, well, interested in you, sexually, you know, and I envisioned your jacket opening, and it did. Then I pictured your pants unzipping and they did. I’m sorry.” She really did feel contrite about that. It wasn’t fair to unzip his pants without warning and she was going to have to learn how to control her so-called talent.

Will stood up, leaving her chest half uncovered. “So, you’re saying you did it? Did you know you could do stuff like that?”

“No. I’m still not convinced I can.”

“Unzip my pants now.”

“Will!” Charlotte felt her cheeks burn, and she wasn’t sure why. “I don’t think so.”

“Come on. I want you to.” He stood with his legs apart and hands loosely at his sides. “Unzip me. Take what you want.”

Oh, my. That was a little hard to resist. Charlotte stared at his snap and zipper, pictured them opening for her. Pictured what was behind them. Pictured wanting him, undressing him. She chanted down in her head over and over, concentrating on the metal button, vision blurring.

And the button popped open. The zipper went down.

“Whoa,” Will said.

Charlotte felt a strange sort of pride in her accomplishment. “I can’t believe I can do this.”

Will grinned, peeling off his winter jacket and tossing it to the floor. “Think of how many ways you can take advantage of me.”

“You don’t mind that I have a freakish ability?”

“Hell, no. That is seriously hot, sweetheart. Just don’t ever get mad at me and wing dishes at my head.”

“I’m not a dish-throwing kind of girl.”

“I know.” Will sat down on a fussy Victorian sofa in front of the fireplace. “But you’re not really the nice girl you claim to be, either. You have a naughty side, too.”

“Maybe I do. More than I realized.” Because she was already stripping her jeans off, just like that, and climbing onto his lap. “We’d better make it quick,” she told him, even as she ground her panties against his erection. “The heat’s not on in here. And you never know who might show up.”

“I can be quick.”

He wasn’t lying. He had somehow managed to spring himself free, and while he kissed the stuffing out of her, he got her shirt up, bra unhooked, and panties pulled to the side. Before she could barely blink, his finger was inside her, stroking her incoherent. Charlotte plunged her tongue into his mouth, needing to taste him, her hands in his hair, holding on. God, she loved him. She never wanted to let him go.

Desire spiraled into desperation. Normally, she’d always thought of herself as a little bit sexually inhibited, but none of that was in evidence with Will. She just felt, reacted, took. Ripping his shirt up, she pressed her bare chest against his, dragging a moan from both of them at that wonderful collision of hot flesh on flesh.

Will lifted up her hips and brought her down onto him with one smooth motion. Charlotte couldn’t have even explained what exactly happened to her panties. Somehow they were sideways, enough out of the way to accomplish the primary goal, which was him deep inside her. She let her head drift back as he lifted up into her, the angle pressing his pelvis into her clitoris in a frantic tease. Charlotte lifted her hips and slammed down onto him, meeting him thrust for thrust, frenzied and determined. She needed it hard, needed to feel all of him, needed to take them there together.

So much for slow again. Will figured maybe eventually they’d get there, in about a year. He just wanted Charlotte too damn much to have any sort of patience whatsoever. She seemed to feel the same way, given the way she was bucking up and down on him, her breasts brushing against his chest, her ass soft and sexy on his thighs. When she came, Will thought it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. She was so honest in her appreciation, her cries loud and unrestrained, her eyes rolled back, her fingers gripping his skull.

Her convulsion jerked his head back, and that was all it took to make him join her. Will pulsed into her, straining, holding her at the waist, wanting her still so he could fill her as completely as possible. It had some solid staying power, and Will finally collapsed back against the sofa and let out a little laugh.

“Was that quick enough?” he asked, blinking hard to focus on her.

Her skin was shiny and pink from exertion and pleasure. “That was perfect.” She grinned and leaned forward to kiss him softly.

Will stroked her back lazily. Then heard a car door slam. “Uh, sweetheart, I think someone’s in the drive.”

She leapt off him with a dexterity that was impressive, tucking and adjusting and pulling her jeans back on. Will did the same and he was just slipping back into his jacket when they heard the front door open and giggling.

“You can see my new thong,” a female voice said.

Uh-oh. Will knew that voice. He darted a glance at Charlotte, whose face had lost all the flush from their lovemaking and every other ounce of color.

Abby and Brady Stritmeyer came into the room, laughing and kissing and pawing at each other’s clothes.

“Abigail Murphy!” Charlotte said, her voice filled with horror.

Abby’s head snapped up and her eyes went wide. “Charlotte?” she said in a tiny voice.

“Shit,” Brady said, quickly pulling Abby’s shirt back down.

“What the hell are you two doing?” Charlotte asked.

Will figured that was obvious, but he kept his mouth shut.

“The, uh, movie sucked, so we left halfway through. Brady’s grandma owns this house, so we came to talk.” Abby was blushing, but she was also holding her arms crossed over her chest defiantly. “I don’t have to be home until midnight. What are you two doing here?”

“I’m buying this house,” Will said. “I wanted Charlotte’s opinion.” And her body, but that was irrelevant. “And I wanted to ask her to marry me, so I did.”

Abby dropped her arms, defiance disappearing. “Are you serious? Ohmigod! That rocks, Will!” She ran to her sister and bounced on the balls of her feet. “Did you say yes? Tell me you said yes?”

Charlotte smiled and accepted her sister’s hug. “I said yes.”

Then Abby was squealing in delight, so Will took the opportunity to sidle up to Brady, who shot him a wary look.

“Congrats, man,” Brady said.

“Thanks. And keep in mind I’ll be Abby’s brother-in-law. And I’m a cop. I carry a gun.” Then he smiled at Brady. “Just a friendly reminder.”

“Got it.”

“What is going on here?”

Bree joined the party, looking annoyed and cold, snow all over her feet, shod in impractical open shoes, her skirt hovering somewhere around her knees. It wasn’t the best choice of outfit for December, but Will didn’t think Bree went in much for practical. Stubborn was more her style.

“What are you doing here?” Abby asked.

Will was wondering the same thing. When he’d brought Charlotte to see the house, he hadn’t expected they’d be throwing a housewarming party in it that night.

“I saw you and Brady drive past the house, and since you were supposed to be at the movies, I wanted to know what you were doing here.”

“You followed me?” Abby frowned. “You so need a life.”

Bree glared at her little sister, and Will saw the whole conversation going bad places. He slipped his hand into Charlotte’s and pulled her by his side. “I brought Charlotte here to show her this house because I was thinking about buying it.”

Bree blinked, studying him. “You’re going to, aren’t you? I feel all these weird happy waves from you, and…” Her mouth dropped. “You and Charlotte had sex, didn’t you? I can sense it.”

That was kind of disturbing. He didn’t think he wanted Bree sensing it every time he and Charlotte got busy. But since Charlotte was now blushing a violent red, he figured it was obvious anyway. He said, “Charlotte and I are buying this house together. We’re getting married.”

Damn, that felt and sounded so good when he said it. He was having happy waves. Big ones. He pulled Charlotte even closer and wrapped both his arms around her. He never wanted to let her go again.

“Charlotte, is he serious?” Bree asked.

Charlotte looked at him and Will felt his breath catch. There was no mistaking the look she was giving him—it was tender, filled with love, and edged with lust.

“Oh, yeah, he’s one-hundred-percent serious.”

And she kissed him right there, in front of her sisters. Which, for Charlotte, was a serious sign of affection.

He whispered in her ear, “How powerful a witch do you think you are? Can you make them move right out of this house? I want to work on your lust spell some more.”

Charlotte pulled back and gave him a saucy smile. “I can handle this.” She glanced over her shoulder. “You all need to leave because Will and I want to be alone.”

That worked.

Seven

A WEEK LATER CHARLOTTE FIGURED LIFE DIDN’T GET ANY better. She and Will were hosting a Christmas party in the gray house and they were surrounded by family, food, and holiday music. They’d made an offer on the house and were set to close in a few weeks. Jessie Stritmeyer had happily agreed to let them have their first Christmas party in the house, despite not having moved in yet, and she’d even given them their first housewarming gift—a rather obscene-looking cactus.

Charlotte’s mother was chatting happily away to Will’s mother, who had come back from Florida for a week to celebrate Christmas. Mrs. Thornton, bless her heart, actually seemed interested in the running commentary Charlotte’s mother was delivering on her haunted prison tour adventure, complete with cold spots and rattling manacles.

Abby reached around Charlotte for the cookie tray resting on the coffee table. “These rock.” She bit the head off a blue frosted angel and chewed.

“Thanks.” Charlotte had baked six dozen cookies in a sort of love, sugar, and sex high after she and Will had spent a rather industrious morning getting to know each other just a bit better. Yet again. “Nice T-shirt.”

Her sister grinned. “It’s Christmas themed.”

It was, but somehow Charlotte didn’t think a shirt that featured Santa being enthusiastically whipped by his reindeer was really traditional in the truest sense. Charlotte sank back into the sofa and watched Will, her father, Mr. Thornton, and Brady Stritmeyer inspecting the door in the dining room that led to the backyard. She heard them tossing around thoughts like installing better insulation, a new track, and a dead bolt. They were in collective man heaven inspecting the house and laundry-listing all the repairs it needed.

Bree was sitting on the other side of her, wearing the tackiest, most appalling sweatshirt Charlotte had ever seen. Suffering from multiple personality disorder, the shirt was green, red, gold, plaid, striped, decked out with bows, lace, raffia, and featuring at least three Christmas scenes on it. It looked like a craft fair had vomited on her sister’s chest, and she had to admit, Bree looked better in black.

“Are we going to burn this shirt together after today?” Charlotte asked her, knowing her sister had picked the hideous thing to wear to prove a point. Charlotte couldn’t expect her sisters to change any more than she herself wanted to change. Just because they didn’t share the same taste in clothes didn’t make them any less sisters.

“I was hoping.” Bree grinned. “I think I might actually need therapy after wearing this.”

“Thanks for doing it.” Charlotte crossed her legs and took her sisters’ hands in hers. She squeezed, feeling deliciously, ridiculously happy.

“Hey, by the way, what did you do with that mistletoe and the ribbon?” Bree asked.

“It’s shoved in a drawer.”

“If you don’t want it you have to destroy it piece by piece since you put a spell on it.”

“That’s sounds dangerous. How about I give it to you and you can do it.” “Destroy” was not a verb Charlotte acted out intentionally.

“Okay. I’ll take care of it.”

Charlotte was still gripping their hands, unwilling to let go just yet. Will glanced over at her and smiled. Dang, he was so cute. She imagined running her fingers over his tight butt, sliding around to the front and stroking him into thick, throbbing hardness.

Suddenly Will’s eyes went wide and he took a step backward, like he was evading something. A glance showed he had an erection before his hands moved in front of it to block the view. Holy crap.

“Careful, Charlotte,” Bree whispered, her voice gleeful. “Together the three of us are more powerful than one.”

Huh. It was a little scary to imagine what the three of them could do together, but it didn’t stop her from looking at Will and still thinking naughty thoughts.

He grinned at her. Later, he mouthed.

Definitely later. And forever.