Read Online Single Witch's Survival Guide by Mindy Klasky - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mindy Klasky
Tags: Humor, Fiction, Romance, Fantasy, Contemporary, Magic, ChickLit, Occult & Supernatural, Witchcraft, witch, Topic, Relationships
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free from his trousers. He growled and caught my wrists tight, pinning my hands above my head.
I laughed and rose beneath him, hungry to feel every line of his body.
And then I heard it—a single sharp bark. I knew the tone—Spot was demanding our immediate attention. David froze above me, his arms hardening into a protective cage. I slipped my hands down to my sides, twisting around to see what had upset the dog.
And I nearly laughed out loud. Our unexpected visitor looked as if he’d reported from Central Casting, responding to some imperious director’s demand for “Accounting Dweeb.” He wore trousers from a rumpled brown suit and a short-sleeve dress shirt with—honest to Hecate—a pocket protector. Aside from a few wisps of hair combed sidewise across the dome of his head, he was bald. His overbite made him look like a rabbit, an impression that was reinforced by the nervous glances he cast at Spot. He carried a beat-up briefcase, the russet leather worn almost bare on the corners.
David ordered Spot to lie down, and then he climbed to his own feet, never taking his eyes off the newcomer. He reached down and helped me up, keeping a palm on my elbow, as if he didn’t trust me to find my balance. I took advantage of his interposing body to button up my compromised blouse before I followed him to the end of the dock.
“Jane,” David said when we stood beside our softly growling dog. “I’d like you to meet Norville Pitt.”
My blood froze. Not because “Norville Pitt” meant anything to me—it didn’t. Not because there was anything remotely threatening about the awkward man who licked his lips and darted his gaze to the bristling Spot.
I panicked because David Montrose was quite clearly afraid of the man at the end of our dock.
CHAPTER 5
OVER THE PAST four years, I had watched my warder face down physical threats without a second’s hesitation. He had escorted me past men armed with swords. He had confronted policemen and Secret Service agents. I had witnessed his unequaled skill at verbal fencing; he’d traded barbs with witches and warders alike. I had relied on him to put me back together after disastrous encounters with my mother, after terrifying medical emergencies for Gran, after failed romances.
Through it all, David had never hesitated. But now my warder seemed lost. For the first time in my life, I realized it was a curse to know someone well enough to tell exactly what he was thinking. Especially when he was thinking he’d rather be anywhere but here.
To give him a moment to collect himself, I extended a hand in greeting. “Mr. Pitt.”
“No relation to Brad,” our visitor quipped, shaking with a sweaty palm.
Um, yeah. No possibility of confusion there.
Spot whined, loudly enough that David spoke his name in warning. The dog’s attention was stapled to our visitor. David issued a tight hand command, insisting that Spot maintain his prone posture.
Attending to the dog finally allowed David to recover enough composure to take some action. He tugged open the door of the ramshackle boat shed and dug around inside for a few plastic chairs. After taking a couple of swipes at the sturdiest one, he gestured toward our guest. “Please, Norville. Have a seat.”
Pitt’s shoulders hunched as he perched on the edge of the chair. His glasses slid down his nose, sped on their way by a sheen of sweat. He pushed them back into place with an automatic gesture that told me his glasses slipped a thousand times a day, sweat or no.
This was this man who put fear in David’s heart?
My warder flicked his hand to indicate I should take another one of the chairs. I automatically left room for him to sit between Pitt and me. Spot’s whine ratcheted another notch toward desperate, and David took pity on the poor animal, allowing him to cross the beach, to fold himself across my feet.
Pitt swallowed noisily before he began to speak. “Miss Madison. I am here today in my capacity as Head
I laughed and rose beneath him, hungry to feel every line of his body.
And then I heard it—a single sharp bark. I knew the tone—Spot was demanding our immediate attention. David froze above me, his arms hardening into a protective cage. I slipped my hands down to my sides, twisting around to see what had upset the dog.
And I nearly laughed out loud. Our unexpected visitor looked as if he’d reported from Central Casting, responding to some imperious director’s demand for “Accounting Dweeb.” He wore trousers from a rumpled brown suit and a short-sleeve dress shirt with—honest to Hecate—a pocket protector. Aside from a few wisps of hair combed sidewise across the dome of his head, he was bald. His overbite made him look like a rabbit, an impression that was reinforced by the nervous glances he cast at Spot. He carried a beat-up briefcase, the russet leather worn almost bare on the corners.
David ordered Spot to lie down, and then he climbed to his own feet, never taking his eyes off the newcomer. He reached down and helped me up, keeping a palm on my elbow, as if he didn’t trust me to find my balance. I took advantage of his interposing body to button up my compromised blouse before I followed him to the end of the dock.
“Jane,” David said when we stood beside our softly growling dog. “I’d like you to meet Norville Pitt.”
My blood froze. Not because “Norville Pitt” meant anything to me—it didn’t. Not because there was anything remotely threatening about the awkward man who licked his lips and darted his gaze to the bristling Spot.
I panicked because David Montrose was quite clearly afraid of the man at the end of our dock.
CHAPTER 5
OVER THE PAST four years, I had watched my warder face down physical threats without a second’s hesitation. He had escorted me past men armed with swords. He had confronted policemen and Secret Service agents. I had witnessed his unequaled skill at verbal fencing; he’d traded barbs with witches and warders alike. I had relied on him to put me back together after disastrous encounters with my mother, after terrifying medical emergencies for Gran, after failed romances.
Through it all, David had never hesitated. But now my warder seemed lost. For the first time in my life, I realized it was a curse to know someone well enough to tell exactly what he was thinking. Especially when he was thinking he’d rather be anywhere but here.
To give him a moment to collect himself, I extended a hand in greeting. “Mr. Pitt.”
“No relation to Brad,” our visitor quipped, shaking with a sweaty palm.
Um, yeah. No possibility of confusion there.
Spot whined, loudly enough that David spoke his name in warning. The dog’s attention was stapled to our visitor. David issued a tight hand command, insisting that Spot maintain his prone posture.
Attending to the dog finally allowed David to recover enough composure to take some action. He tugged open the door of the ramshackle boat shed and dug around inside for a few plastic chairs. After taking a couple of swipes at the sturdiest one, he gestured toward our guest. “Please, Norville. Have a seat.”
Pitt’s shoulders hunched as he perched on the edge of the chair. His glasses slid down his nose, sped on their way by a sheen of sweat. He pushed them back into place with an automatic gesture that told me his glasses slipped a thousand times a day, sweat or no.
This was this man who put fear in David’s heart?
My warder flicked his hand to indicate I should take another one of the chairs. I automatically left room for him to sit between Pitt and me. Spot’s whine ratcheted another notch toward desperate, and David took pity on the poor animal, allowing him to cross the beach, to fold himself across my feet.
Pitt swallowed noisily before he began to speak. “Miss Madison. I am here today in my capacity as Head
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