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Protecting His Witch

A Keepers of the Veil Novel

Entangled Publishing, LLC

Buzzing electrified Kat Ramsey's brain. She jolted upright in bed, now fully awake. Her body tingled, and her chest cranked so tight that she gasped for air. This signaled an imminent jump to a different reality. Air chilled her upper body. One glance down and ... she was naked? Oh, no. I can't jump to that other place naked!

The jumps to the Otherworld came at random. And, thank God, they didn't happen often. The last time was five years ago, after a motorboat explosion killed her parents and threw her from the boat.

She never slept bare out of terror that this might happen. Clothes ... get clothes. Her retinas burned as she squinted against the early light of dawn filtering through the dorm room's mini-blinds. Where am I? This wasn't her room.

She rocked to move out of the bed, but found herself anchored. She yanked the sheet off the lower half of her body. A male arm draped her lap. She wheezed out, "Oh God."

The hand curved around her bare thigh. And caressed. The gentle sweeps of his fingers sensitized every nerve in the vicinity. Half of her mind freaked out that there was a guy stroking her nude thigh. The other part recognized the hand, and him. And screamed, Oh yeah. The tug-o-war in her brain turboed the humming into pulsating pain.

Memories of the wild things she'd done with him — Matt Ryan — slideshowed in her mind. Maybe the pain in her skull was the aftereffect of those Purple Passion drinks and not an imminent reality-shift warning.

His fingers continued to electrify the skin of her thigh.

"Where am I?" she asked. This room, and him, were in that different reality, Otherworld as she liked to call it. Last night, she'd entered her dorm room in her world after a study marathon to discover her four-month super crush and chem-lab partner sucking face with her roommate. The next minute she'd reality jumped into a dark corner of a rowdy frat party. With her emotions running high, she'd immediately dipped a sixteen-ounce plastic cup into a barrel of purple drink.

His fingers teased across her lap as he rolled to his back and threw an arm over his face. An intricate blue Celtic tattoo decorated the inside of his right wrist.

Her heart raced. She denied the urge to bolt from the bed, not out of respect for his feelings, but out of self-preservation against the pounding inside her skull.

"My head is killing me." He struggled to a sit-prop against the headboard and pressed his thumb into the side of his forehead. At least he, too, suffered. The guy had consumed as many of those drinks as she. Her gaze drifted down his body. The guy was stunning from buzz cut to chiseled chest. The striped sheet barely covered the substantial bulge in his lap. As her mind filled in the gaps hidden by the sheet, her cheeks burned.

Holy cow, she'd just slept with the hottest guy in the universe. She, the super science geek. The you-go-girl side of her brain wahooed. The rational side of her brain spat out a resounding, Oh shit. She'd never slept with a guy before. She definitely didn't do one-nighters. She'd had several major crushes and three awkward dates since she started undergrad a year and a half ago. And she'd gotten drunk at one frat rush party, but even then she'd kept her clothes on. Other guys barely pushed her body beyond lukewarm. She remained in control and her mind rational, which meant she talked herself out of proceeding in every case.

Until Matt. One kiss and she'd practically attacked him when he discovered her in that dark corner of the party last night. He'd been the one to put on the brakes, renew their drinks, and try to converse over the pulsating music. After two more plastic cups of Everclear enriched Kool-Aid, they were on the dance floor. Then in this room. And, crap, had they used protection?

She closed her eyelids and pressed a finger into her left eye, not that it resolved the lacerating pain.

"Your head hurt, too, wildcat?" The deep, sexy rumble of his voice sent tingles down her arms.

Her gaze snapped to his.

Concern smoldered in his deep blue eyes. "Here let me take care of it." He brushed aside her auburn bangs and laid a finger against her forehead. The pain fizzled into nothing.

What had he done? Maybe he was like her — not quite normal. Maybe he hid a few magical abilities. She'd searched her whole life to find someone else with gifts. Someone who could tell her why she had these talents. She sifted through her memories for clues to indicate he might be different. Nothing emerged. Disappointed, she concluded he must've hit an acupuncture point or something.

He rolled his wrist to view his watch. "I've got a rot-zee run in thirty minutes, but ..." His tone dripped with suggestion. "I could be persuaded to miss."

"What's rot-zee?"

"ROTC. Almost all the guys in this frat are ROTC."

Idiotic question. Of course she knew what that was. She'd just never considered herself a soldier groupie. "What time is it?" She scanned the floor for her watch, but identified only his abandoned dark T-shirt and jeans on her side of the bed, and nothing of hers.

"'Bout five forty-five."

"I've got a chem midterm in two hours." She needed to get home to her reality pronto, not that she had any control over when she jumped worlds or where she'd end up. But this time the shift had to happen. She'd already bombed two quizzes and needed to pass this test with flying colors or risk a GPA slide, and losing her scholarship.

"Well ... you could say we did some hard-core chemistry studying last night." He drew her tight to his chest and tucked her head beneath his chin. The heat of his body scorched her. His hoarse voice dropped to a whisper. "Sorry. That was cheesy."

She squirmed against him for freedom, even though her body begged her to melt into him. She froze when her butt hit his arousal.

"Don't go." The tremor in his voice tugged at her heart. With a finger on her chin, he turned her head and forced her to meet his gaze. "Please, stay."

His deep blues sucked her in, calmed her. And tempted her. Maybe last night had been as earth-shattering for him as she remembered it had been for her.

His lips touched hers. His tongue tickled the seam of her lips until she opened. Then the kiss deepened. Powerful, all consuming, aggressive. His hands plowed through her hair as he pulled her close until there was no space between them. He groaned when her fingers curled into his shoulders.

His touch made her head spin. It felt ... right. Perfect. His hand trailed from the back of her neck down her spine, each touch light, not rushed. A soft moan echoed from somewhere deep inside her.

"God, you're amazing," he mumbled.

She smiled against his lips and kissed him harder. He cupped one hand around her breast, nibbled the sensitive flesh of her ear, and licked down her throat. She begged silently, Please don't stop.

A pounding on his dorm room door was followed by a feminine scream. "Who's in there with you, Matt? Shawn said you've got a party slut in there."

He pulled away and whooshed out, "Shit." He ran a hand over his head and rubbed his eyes.

"Who's that?" she asked as the passion haze cleared from her mind.

The pounding intensified. "Open up!" A loud thud whacked the door.

He scooted to the edge of the bed and massaged his forehead. He pushed to a wobbly stand and pulled on his jeans.

The moment he unlocked the door a perfectly coiffed blonde in a sorority sweatshirt shoved past him and pointed at Kat. "Who the hell is that?" The girl's thoughts bombarded Kat's mind, courtesy of her magical gift that worked on every person other than Matt. Did you even tell her you had a girlfriend?

Kat's heart cramped tight and then shattered. She managed to loosen the sheet and wind it around her as she slid out of the bed to stand. A desperate floor scan confirmed no evidence of her clothes.

Tears poured down the blonde's cheeks. "Matt? How could you?" She clung to him like a life preserver. The girl thought, I love you. I was going to marry you.

He mumbled something low to the girl, their familiar intimacy obvious.

"Get her out of here!" the girl screeched and then thought, She's not even pretty. Her high-pitched wailing burned Kat's ears.

A few guys crowded the doorway with too-curious leers. Matt pinched the bridge of his nose, and waved the guys away. He disentangled himself from the blonde and pushed Kat toward the door. "You'd better go."

She blinked against the sting of tears. Fury curled in her stomach. She narrowed her eyes, and slapped him. She gritted out, "May you never find satisfaction with another woman."

He paled and stepped back. He massaged his chest over his heart and whispered, "Did you just curse me?"

Like she knew how to do that. She tried to remember what she'd just uttered, but her emotions were running too hot to think clearly. At least he admitted belief in the supernatural. That didn't mean he had mysterious gifts like her, but it didn't matter. He was history.

Magical energy revved deep in her chest, warning of an imminent world shift. She spied her bra hanging off a lamp. Her pants lay near the mini-refrigerator. But fury and the terror of disappearing with an audience pushed her to forget them. She stalked to the door wrapped in the sheet, head held high and slammed it behind her. But she didn't miss Matt's bellow, "Did you curse me?"

A decade later ...

The timeless chords of a swing-era favorite filtered between the whirling vertigo in Kat Ramsey's brain. She attempted an eyelid crack. Light scorched her retinas. Too soon for vision.

She stumbled backward, bumping into a wall. With her eyelids sealed shut, she waited for her vision to stabilize.

It had happened again — the bizarre world shift. Moments ago she'd been modeling her newest online super-sale find in front of her full-length bedroom mirror. The strappy designer high heels worked with the spaghetti-strap black gown she'd purchased a year ago. Then her brain went dizzy and poof ... now she was here, wherever here might be, in Otherworld.

The magical reality change wasn't time travel. Everything in Otherworld was the same year and similar technology, but it wasn't her home. Different people, different organizations, and slightly different politics.

The hum of many conversations at once registered in her ears as the chords of the familiar tune continued. The imperfections of the music suggested a live band. She squinted. Her eyes burned, but she forced them to stay open. Nearby a horde of elegantly dressed women verbally one-upped each other and sipped at cocktails. The glut of jaw-dropping designer formal wear and sparkly jewels suggested a high-society shindig. Her dress was appropriate, even if it was off-the-rack.

Between one blink and the next, her eyes gave the thumbs-up on twenty-twenty again. A large banner along the far wall proclaimed, "Rose Center Juvenile Diabetes Benefit sponsored by Ryan Corp." The pamphlets lining the wall near her indicated this was the Natural Science Center in New York City.

Her heart raced, and she forced herself to swallow. Legs still wobbly, she continued leaning against the wall.

Pull yourself together. You've done this four times before. You'll get through this and go home. She focused on the physical act of breathing. Air in. Air out. Air in. Air out.

A waiter paused in front of her with a tray of glasses filled with white wine. Kat took one and thanked him.

She pushed away from the wall and sipped the wine. The rich, buttery flavor of chardonnay coated her palate and soothed her dry throat. "Mmm," she mumbled. This isn't the cheap stuff.

A horde of people crowded her, and she started to move away, but a male body smashed into her. The three-inch incline she'd forced her feet into was no match for a battering ram.

With lightning speed her unintentional attacker pulled her tight to his chest.

Thank God the wine didn't spill.

"Pardon me," a husky male baritone murmured. He didn't release her.

Startled to find herself walled in by the heat of a seriously intimidating, hard, male body, she backed up a step, forcing her savior to let go. "Thanks," she murmured.

One glance up and her lungs went on strike. This guy was built big. Uncompromising raw power in a six-foot-something package met her stare. A thin, sexy scar over his right cheek suggested he might not have had a pampered heritage. He was gorgeous. Forget gorgeous. He was utterly, mind-blowingly handsome.

The corners of his lips tipped upward into a seductive half smile. A smile she knew too well — Matthew Ryan.

"Are you enjoying yourself, Ms. Ramsey?" His gaze traveled to her chest and followed the line of the silver chain that disappeared between her breasts. His gaze darted up to hers. They scorched with the offer of sex and any carnal fantasy she dared conjure.

"Matt?" Sensation so intense it bordered on pain flooded her body, as if every cell had suddenly jolted to life. Her skin tingled, tight and hot.

"So you do remember who I am."

She wished she could squelch the flush that heated her cheeks, and the compulsive need to moisten her lips. "I'm not really enjoying myself so much. No." She took another step back, needing to distance herself from him. Her body might still light up for the bastard as instantly as the first time she'd met him a decade ago. But the memory of his rejection remained etched into her memory like a bad tattoo. Indignant hatred surged. She tried to catch his thoughts, but got nothing from him. Not even an impression of his emotions. He was still the only person she'd ever met from whom she couldn't pick up mental ramblings.

"No? Aren't you supposed to be polite and tell your host this is the best party you've ever attended?" His lips quirked upward into a grin, flashing a set of perfect dimples.

Ryan Corporation. Matthew Ryan. Damn.

She glanced around. Distractedly she said, "Looks like a great party." Detailed male reviews of her anatomy, and women dissing every aspect of her appearance overloaded her brain. She massaged her temple against the seed of an excruciating migraine. Focus, she ordered herself. Stop catching everyone's thoughts.

The attention didn't surprise her. His presence commanded notice. Success and confidence seeped from his pores. As did power.

Her head pain pushed into the pulse-throbbing phase, and she winced, rubbing a spot on her temple.

"Headache?"

The cold clamminess of nausea had her swallowing hard. She forced a smile. She would not show weakness. Not in front of him.

You will not puke. "I don't often attend this type of event. I admit this wine is excellent." She tilted the glass to her lips. One whiff of the liquid's floral bouquet and she knew she shouldn't swallow. A childhood of ingrained social etiquette instructed she not spit the liquid back into the glass as her stomach demanded. Her Southern belle mother's horrified face swam in her brain. With determination she forced the liquid down. Her stomach clamped tight, warning her it would cope, but wasn't happy.

She chanced meeting his gaze — another colossal bad choice. Her nerves buzzed like a virgin facing her first kiss. She went for the wine again, not even realizing until it coated her taste buds.

The back of his fingers whisked across her exposed chest, briefly touching the chain. The delicate intimacy of the touch electrified all exposed skin. Wine caught in her throat, stimulating an immediate cough.

"Bit of glitter or something," he mumbled. The blue of his eyes smoldered when they lifted from her chest. He grinned as if he knew exactly the havoc his touch wreaked.

Kat wished she could come off as apathetic but her cheeks heated and she couldn't hold his gaze. Oddly, her head no longer throbbed. The nausea had also vanished. Usually it took hours when a crowd's thoughts overwhelmed her for the head pain to subside. There must be something to be said for distraction. Or, maybe Matt really did have magical capabilities.

She chanced meeting his gaze. The sexual invite in his deep blues shot her mind right into a scatterbrained fluster. A giggle almost escaped.

Was he trying to push them into the foreplay zone? Maybe this was his normal interaction with every woman he encountered. God knew his body was killer and his eyes promised satisfaction, something she knew he could deliver.

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Excerpted from Protecting His Witch by Zoe Forward, Allison Collins. Copyright © 2014 Zoe Forward. Excerpted by permission of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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