eBook
Related collections and offers
Overview
Maggie O’Neill doesn’t believe in magick, but she goes along with her friend’s spell calling for a lover because it seems like harmless fun. She’s left feeling strangely hot and bothered after, and then the dreams start…
Deputy Jed Bearson is a spiritwalker. He has a rule about never invading anyone’s privacy or dreams, but something pulls him to Maggie’s bedside, where he’s shocked to hear her crying out his name in pleasure. He’s stayed away from her for months, but no more…
Their connection is deep and hot, but Maggie’s reaction to Jed’s secret brings up a wall between them, and Jed wonders what she’s afraid of—magick or following her heart?
Each book in the Spells, Secrets&Seductions series is a standalone story that can be enjoyed out of order.
Series Order:
Book #1 A Touch of Magick
Book #2 Dreams of Seduction
Book #3 Love in Flames
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781640630260 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Entangled Publishing, LLC |
| Publication date: | 07/31/2017 |
| Series: | Spells, Secrets, and Seductions Series , #2 |
| Sold by: | Macmillan |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 150 |
| Sales rank: | 423,223 |
| File size: | 2 MB |
About the Author
Once upon a time N.J. had the idea that she would like to quit her job at the bookstore, sell everything she owned, leave her hometown, and write romance novels in a place where no one knew her. And she did. Two years later, she went back to the bookstore and her hometown and settled in for another seven years. One day she gave notice at her job on a Friday morning. On Sunday afternoon, she received a tentative acceptance for her first romance novel and life would never be the same.
N.J. Walters is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who has always been a voracious reader, and now she spends her days writing novels of her own. Vampires, werewolves, dragons, time-travelers, seductive handymen, and next-door neighbors with smoldering good looks—all vie for her attention. It’s a tough life, but someone’s got to live it.
N.J. Walters is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who has always been a voracious reader, and now she spends her days writing novels of her own. Vampires, werewolves, dragons, assassins, time-travelers, seductive handymen, and next-door neighbors with smoldering good looks—all vie for her attention. It’s a tough life, but someone’s got to live it.
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
Maggie O'Neill stepped inside the pitch-black house and shut the door behind her. She didn't bother to turn on the light. The silence closed in around her, pushing at her, reminding her that she was completely alone.
Her father had died when she was just a child, lost at sea in a freak storm. He was little more than a face in a picture to her. She had vague memories of a man who smelled like the sea, someone who would swoop her into his strong arms, spinning her around until she was dizzy.
Her mother and stepfather were dead, killed a little more than a year ago in a car accident. Their vehicle had been hit head-on by a pickup truck driven by a man who'd had way too much to drink. They were killed instantly. Then her beloved grandmother, Bride O'Neill, had passed a few months back of heart failure. Neither of her parents had siblings, so there were no aunts or uncles or cousins to ease the loneliness.
Dropping her purse on top of the antique oak dresser that sat just beyond the front door, Maggie kicked off her shoes and padded through the living room and into the kitchen. Not pausing, she went to the back door, unlocked it and stepped outside on the small deck. The cool autumn air swirled around her, tugging at her clothing and hair, caressing her skin with its icy fingers.
Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself and stared up at the moon. Her grandmother would have loved the crisp feeling in the air tonight, would have said there was a touch of magick on the wind. Grammy had always urged her to believe in magick, in possibility.
That had been fine when she was a child, but it hadn't lasted into her teens when she'd been uprooted from Burnt Cove by her mother and new stepfather. They'd moved clear across the country to California. It might as well have been to the moon as far as eleven-year-old Maggie had been concerned. The city had been overwhelming and noisy and just too much.
Maggie watched the stars winking in the sky as she thought about those days. It had taken her several years to get used to Los Angeles, but she'd managed. Although in all the years she'd lived there, she'd never really felt as if she'd belonged. Not like she did here.
After the fiasco of catching her fiancé and her best friend having sex together just weeks before the wedding, Maggie had dumped her fiancé, quit her job, sold her condo, disposed of most of her belongings and headed home. That was six months ago. She shook her head, marveling at how fast the time slipped away. The pain of betrayal had gradually eased, leaving behind an emptiness Maggie was still trying to figure out how to fill.
She would always be grateful to her grandmother for leaving her this cottage and a sizeable inheritance. That, coupled with her savings and the proceeds from her condo sale, left her financially stable.
But she was lonely.
Crossing the deck, she eased down onto a comfortable wooden Adirondack chair and pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs as she stared out at the water. The steady whoosh of the waves as they crashed onto the shore soothed her. She loved the ocean. Always had.
Life wasn't all bad. Since she'd moved back home, she'd made two wonderful female friends. Rhiannon Sparks and Esther Roberts were both down-to-earth, genuinely nice people. She'd met them both at Rhiannon's store, A Touch of Magick. There had been an instant connection between the three women that had only grown stronger over the past months.
They had dinner together at least twice a month. In between, they'd meet for lunch, chat on the phone and maybe go shopping together. Maggie would often head into town and hook up with both women for an afternoon in A Touch of Magick's coffee shop. There was always some kind of delectable chocolate treat to sample and good company to enjoy.
She'd been with her friends tonight. They'd met at Rhiannon's place this time. It had been a normal evening until her friend had shocked both her and Esther with the pronouncement that what they needed was to get laid.
She'd laughed, but Rhiannon had been serious. Furthermore, she'd suggested they cast a spell to bring them all a lover, revealing that she was also a witch. Not Wiccan, but an honest-to-goodness witch, able to cast spells and do heaven only knew what else.
Maggie still wasn't sure how she felt about the whole idea of Rhiannon being a witch. It didn't change how she felt about Rhiannon as a friend, but she didn't quite know how to deal with the revelation. Maggie had stopped believing in magick and fairytales a long time ago.
Still, she'd gone along with the other two women when they wanted to perform a simple candle-magick ceremony out in Rhiannon's backyard. They'd anointed red candles with rose oil, both symbolic of passion. Then they'd placed them on a flat stone, lit the wicks and raised their arms in the air with the fingers touching, forming a circle around the flickering candles.
Maggie curled her arms closer around her legs, pulling them closer to her chest. She shivered as a gust of wind came off the water, seeping through her clothing.
Although she wouldn't admit it to anyone, she'd felt the change in the air tonight, the thickening and stirring, as Rhiannon had tipped her head back and begun to chant. "Lady Moon in the sky so bright. Lend your power. Lend your might. Bring to us a love that's true. And one that one day we won't rue. In this time and in this hour, we three ladies ask this of thee. We ask this done and harm to none, what we have wrought here now is begun."
For some unknown reason, Maggie could remember every word of the chant, and she knew that Rhiannon had asked for a love that's true rather than just a lover. There was a huge difference. Not that she believed in magick, because she didn't. Really.
Closing her eyes, she rested her head on her knees. She could almost hear her grandmother's voice in her head, scolding her for not believing. Bride O'Neill believed in magick, often telling a much younger Maggie that intent and ritual were everything. Her grandmother had come to America from Ireland as a teenager, making this new land her home but carrying many of her beliefs and superstitions from the country of her birth.
Raising her head, Maggie lowered her feet back to the deck and pushed out of the chair. She turned her back on the ocean and went inside, closing the door firmly behind her. She walked back through the dark house and made her way to the front door, checking to make certain it was locked. Not that there was much crime in Burnt Cove, but the times were changing and it paid to be cautious. Besides which, she'd lived in a major city for too long to be able to sleep without having all her doors and windows secured.
Almost against her will, she was drawn to her purse. She opened the bag, reached in her hand and touched the smooth wax of the candle. The scent of rose oil tickled her nostrils, reminding her once again of the ritual she and her friends had performed earlier this evening. Maggie had planned to leave her candle at Rhiannon's, but had been unable to abandon it.
She closed her fingers around the candle and held it tight in her left hand as she climbed the stairs. Her right hand slid up the smooth banister, guiding her as she made her way upstairs. She walked across the old oak flooring and into her bedroom, drawing comfort from the familiar creaks in the wood. Flicking on the Tiffany lamp she'd bought at an estate sale, she looked around the room.
The furniture had belonged to her grandmother. It was old, handcrafted more than a hundred and fifty years ago out of solid oak. Maggie loved the bed, with its intricately carved headboard and footboard of Celtic knot work. The tall armoire, which sat against one wall, and the pair of nightstands flanking the bed were also adorned with the same carvings. A large, freestanding mirror sat in one corner of the room, roses carved into the heavy frame.
Maggie had repainted the room a cheerful yellow and bought gauzy white drapes for the two windows that faced the ocean. The oak floor was softened with an area rug done in a design of yellows, browns and greens. The comforter was also new. It was a profusion of colorful flowers, which made the room cheerful and bright.
The room was hers in every way. She'd put her stamp on it, doing it to please no one but herself. Placing the candle on the bedside table, she stared at it for one long moment. "It's just a candle," she muttered.
And truly, that's all it was. The spell they'd cast was nothing more than words. It had no power, no magick. The wind chose that moment to whip up and beat at the closed window. Maggie shivered, but briskly turned away and began to pull off her clothing.
Gathering the discarded garments, she made her way to the bathroom and dumped them into the laundry hamper. It didn't take her long to wash her face and brush out her waist-length hair. She tossed her brush onto the bathroom vanity and reached for her nightgown that was hanging from a hook on the back of the door.
She paused, looking at her reflection in the mirror. Green eyes peered back at her. It wasn't a bad face, just not an overly beautiful one. Like the rest of her, her face was a bit too rounded. With a smattering of freckles covering her nose and cheeks, she looked more like the girl next door than a sexy siren. She'd always felt so out of place in California among the tall, thin blonds. With her curvy body and her long red hair, she'd always stood out, and not in a good way.
Sighing, she slipped the nightgown over her head. The silky fabric slid over her body, leaving goose bumps in its wake. All that talk of sex tonight over at Rhiannon's had reminded her of how long it had been since she'd had any. Six months since she'd tossed her ring back at her ex-fiancé, and even before that, it had been several months. That should have been her first clue that something wasn't right in their relationship.
She'd been so busy at her job with a large advertising firm and planning the wedding that she hadn't questioned the lack of passion in her relationship too deeply. Mostly, she hadn't wanted to see the truth about Mitchell Michaels, the third.
She'd settled because she hadn't wanted to be alone and because she hadn't thought she'd get another proposal. She'd ignored his veiled hints that she should lose weight and think about dyeing her hair, or at least cutting it. She'd ignored the fact that it didn't seem to bother either her or Mitchell that they hadn't slept together in months. She was thirty years old and it was time to get married. God, she'd been so pathetic.
But those days were over. It had taken her long, hard months to get past the pain of the betrayal. Not only had Mitchell and Barbara betrayed her, she'd betrayed herself by settling. No more. She'd rather be alone than live with a man who didn't love her for who she was.
And sex. Well, she was quite capable of taking care of her needs herself.
Hurrying back to her bedroom, she tugged back the covers and climbed into bed. She turned off the light and lay there listening to the creaks and groans of the house as it settled for the night. Rolling onto her side, she peered out the closest window. The stars twinkled against the inky curtain of the night like her own personal nightlight.
A sense of restlessness possessed her. It was all that talk about sex tonight. This was all Rhiannon's fault.
Flopping over onto her back, Maggie closed her eyes and sighed. What she needed was a lover. A dream lover. A man who came to her bed at night and loved her until she was breathless and sated. A man whose touch ignited flames under her skin, whose voice made her shiver with longing.
An image of a man popped into her head — Jed Bearson. Heat suffused her face, flowing down to her breasts and lower still. Her sex pulsed and she could feel the sensitive flesh swelling slightly as blood rushed to the area. Her breasts ached with the need to be touched.
Now there was a man worthy of fantasizing about. He was tall, his legs thick with muscles, his chest broad. Dark black hair fell to his impossibly wide shoulders. He was a self-contained man, but anyone with half a clue could feel the quiet power radiating from him.
He was at least six inches taller than she was. Which meant that he was at least six-three. His face wasn't exactly handsome, not in the classic sense, but rugged, a mixture of rough-hewn features that somehow came together to look completely right on him. His nose was large and slightly hooked, yet it suited him well. His eyebrows were thick slashes of black that sat above his expressive eyes. Thick, dark lashes framed eyes the color of old amber. His cheekbones were high, his lips full.
She shivered beneath the covers. What would those lips feel like against hers? What would they feel like brushing against her skin? Maggie groaned and shifted restlessly against the sheets. The bottom of her gown slid upward, pooling around her hips.
And those hands. Oh God, he had the most incredible hands. Large and work-roughened, they were the hands of a man who worked hard. Yet she knew he could be gentle too.
She knew all too well what those hands felt like.
She'd been coming out of the grocery store a few weeks ago when he'd been going in. Paying more attention to him than to where she was going, Maggie had tripped in the doorway where the edge of the door met the pavement of the sidewalk. Jed had caught her before she'd taken a header straight to the ground. His hands had lingered on her hips before sliding around to her stomach and then dropping away. She'd felt an acute sense of loss when he'd released her.
"Are you okay?" Goose bumps ran down her arms as she remembered the exact tone of his voice — a low and intimate rumble that seemed to stroke her skin from the inside out. She'd managed to stammer out her reply and then he was gone.
Maggie groaned and wrapped her arms around herself, but it did no good. Her breasts were swollen, the tips pushing against the silky fabric of her nightgown, and the notch between her thighs was wet. There was no way to get Jed Bearson out of her brain.
She licked her lips and slowly released her arms, letting them slide over her stomach. Curling her fingers around the edge of her gown, she pulled it up until it was bunched around her waist.
Taking a deep breath, she shoved the fabric higher, exposing her stomach, torso and finally her breasts. She palmed the firm mounds and sucked in a sharp breath. Her nipples stabbed the center of her hands as she teased them.
Using her thumbs and forefingers, she lightly pinched the tips, moaning as pleasure shot straight from her breasts to her sex. Her legs fell open and her breathing got faster, shallower. Cream, warm and thick, slipped from her core. Letting her imagination go, she pictured Jed's hands on her body, Jed's fingers plying her nipples.
A low groan filled the bedroom. His hands were so much larger than hers and would have no trouble covering her ample breasts. Her imagination was so vivid she could easily feel the heat of his hands on her skin as they slid from her breasts. Down her torso, tracing her ribcage. Cradling her hips.
Her body was pliant in his hands. She pushed the covers away, not wanting anything between her and her phantom lover. Cool air stroked her, but her flesh quickly warmed as hands caressed her from breasts to hips and back again.
Her legs shifted again and she pushed her thighs wide. The slither of bare skin against the sheets mingled with her breathy sighs was like the first notes of an erotic symphony that would only culminate when she climaxed.
Fingers slid through her curly pubic hair and still lower, parting her slick folds. Gasping, she pressed her hips upward, searching, seeking. A light brush against the swollen nub of her clitoris had her crying out in ecstasy.
Her inner muscles were clutching and relaxing in a never- ending rhythm, as if searching for a hard, thick cock to fill her core. Maggie turned her head to one side, her mouth open on a silent cry as two fingers slipped past the entrance to her passage and pushed deep.
The fingers curled upward as they were pulled almost all the way out, finding her sweet spot and making her moan. "More," she sobbed. Her phantom lover complied, pressing fingers deep once again, this time harder and faster.
Maggie undulated her hips, keeping time with the thrust of fingers. A thumb brushed over her clitoris. For a moment, it was as if she could feel the barest touch of warm, moist breath on her sex.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Dreams of Seduction"
by .
Copyright © 2011 N.J. Walters.
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.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.