body react.
"Well, Mr. Harper, what do you think?" she asked softly.
He could certainly never tell her what was on his mind. "I thought you were going to call me Declan."
"But this is business," she said, tilting her chin upward, casting him a powerful glance as she softly, rhythmically rocked. Even in this soft light those green eyes rimmed in darker blue were hypnotic. Seductive. "Mr. Harper seems more appropriate at the moment, as I ask you a professional question. What do you think of the potion I concocted for you?"
"You first," he said. "Is it working?"
She shrugged her shoulders. "Perhaps. At this particular moment I do find you less irritating than I did earlier."
Perhaps? Less irritating? Not exactly the response for which he was looking. "You don't find yourself the least bit attracted to me?" Are you aroused, Matilda? Do you ache between your legs for me? Are your breasts heavy, your nipples hard? "Just a little bit?"
She rocked again, gently. "Perhaps," she said softly. "I never noticed until just a few moments ago what a very nice neck you have."
His eyebrows lifted in dismay and surprise. He sat here, his pecker erect and thinking on its own as he suffered salacious fantasies about Tanglewood's witch, and the only effect the potion had on her was to call attention to his damned neck? "My neck," he muttered. "I'm so flattered."
She lifted a delicate hand and gestured gracefully in his direction. The memory of her making rose water assaulted him: the way the fragrant petals had fallen from her hands, the way the steam had wrapped around her body.
"It's a lovely neck," she continued. "Very strong, very nicely shaped. I like the masculinity of it, the width and the muscles and the perfect length." She tilted her head to one side as she continued to study him. "I should like very much to know what it tastes like."
Impossibly, his body reacted more than before; he grew even harder. At this moment, he wanted nothing more than to cross the small room, pick up Matilda, lay her on the floor, and bury himself inside her. Hard. Fast. He wanted to make her scream his name.
Control, he reminded himself. This is the potion talking.
"So," she whispered, "is it working for you?"
"Perhaps," he admitted grudgingly.
"You're not sure?"
Well, he couldn't very well tell her that he was painfully aroused, and he sure as hell couldn't tell her about these sexual fantasies. "I find you much less annoying than usual as well," he said calmly. "And I keep wishing you'd take your hair down," he added impetuously. "Un-braid it. Shake it loose."
"That seems a simple enough request," she said as she untied the red ribbon at the tail end of one long braid and began to slowly, painfully slowly, unbraid the long, golden strands.
Declan watched, hypnotized. Matilda had capable hands, skillful fingers. He wondered exactly what those fingers could do; he wondered what they'd feel like on his body. She kept her eyes on him as she worked her fingers through her hair, unraveling first one braid and then another. And then, when she was done, she shook her hair out as he had requested. Thick and wavy, it fell about her in a golden cloud. He wanted to run his own fingers through it; he wanted to see it spread across his pillow.
"Job well done, Miss Candy," he said as he forced himself slowly and carefully to his feet. "I'd say you have a successful formula here."
He grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair, and slipped the vial filled with the remaining powder into his pocket. Successful was an understatement; if anything, the potion worked too well. At least he knew not to share when he slipped the potion to Vanessa. He wanted her to fall in love with him; he had no intention of making a fool of himself. And certainly not over a woman. Any woman. Not the county's most beautiful and sought-after woman, nor a seductive, pixie-like witch with a seductive smile and hypnotic eyes.
"The effects of the potion will wear off. Won't they?"
"Well, Mr. Harper, what do you think?" she asked softly.
He could certainly never tell her what was on his mind. "I thought you were going to call me Declan."
"But this is business," she said, tilting her chin upward, casting him a powerful glance as she softly, rhythmically rocked. Even in this soft light those green eyes rimmed in darker blue were hypnotic. Seductive. "Mr. Harper seems more appropriate at the moment, as I ask you a professional question. What do you think of the potion I concocted for you?"
"You first," he said. "Is it working?"
She shrugged her shoulders. "Perhaps. At this particular moment I do find you less irritating than I did earlier."
Perhaps? Less irritating? Not exactly the response for which he was looking. "You don't find yourself the least bit attracted to me?" Are you aroused, Matilda? Do you ache between your legs for me? Are your breasts heavy, your nipples hard? "Just a little bit?"
She rocked again, gently. "Perhaps," she said softly. "I never noticed until just a few moments ago what a very nice neck you have."
His eyebrows lifted in dismay and surprise. He sat here, his pecker erect and thinking on its own as he suffered salacious fantasies about Tanglewood's witch, and the only effect the potion had on her was to call attention to his damned neck? "My neck," he muttered. "I'm so flattered."
She lifted a delicate hand and gestured gracefully in his direction. The memory of her making rose water assaulted him: the way the fragrant petals had fallen from her hands, the way the steam had wrapped around her body.
"It's a lovely neck," she continued. "Very strong, very nicely shaped. I like the masculinity of it, the width and the muscles and the perfect length." She tilted her head to one side as she continued to study him. "I should like very much to know what it tastes like."
Impossibly, his body reacted more than before; he grew even harder. At this moment, he wanted nothing more than to cross the small room, pick up Matilda, lay her on the floor, and bury himself inside her. Hard. Fast. He wanted to make her scream his name.
Control, he reminded himself. This is the potion talking.
"So," she whispered, "is it working for you?"
"Perhaps," he admitted grudgingly.
"You're not sure?"
Well, he couldn't very well tell her that he was painfully aroused, and he sure as hell couldn't tell her about these sexual fantasies. "I find you much less annoying than usual as well," he said calmly. "And I keep wishing you'd take your hair down," he added impetuously. "Un-braid it. Shake it loose."
"That seems a simple enough request," she said as she untied the red ribbon at the tail end of one long braid and began to slowly, painfully slowly, unbraid the long, golden strands.
Declan watched, hypnotized. Matilda had capable hands, skillful fingers. He wondered exactly what those fingers could do; he wondered what they'd feel like on his body. She kept her eyes on him as she worked her fingers through her hair, unraveling first one braid and then another. And then, when she was done, she shook her hair out as he had requested. Thick and wavy, it fell about her in a golden cloud. He wanted to run his own fingers through it; he wanted to see it spread across his pillow.
"Job well done, Miss Candy," he said as he forced himself slowly and carefully to his feet. "I'd say you have a successful formula here."
He grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair, and slipped the vial filled with the remaining powder into his pocket. Successful was an understatement; if anything, the potion worked too well. At least he knew not to share when he slipped the potion to Vanessa. He wanted her to fall in love with him; he had no intention of making a fool of himself. And certainly not over a woman. Any woman. Not the county's most beautiful and sought-after woman, nor a seductive, pixie-like witch with a seductive smile and hypnotic eyes.
"The effects of the potion will wear off. Won't they?"
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