Mathilda, SuperWitch (Mathilda's Book of Shadows #1)(100)

Then I said, “I asked myself, ‘Self? What do you get the man who has everything?’ and my Self answered, ‘Something money can’t buy.’ So there it is.” Then I gave another lame hand flourish, gesturing to the booklet.

He was leafing through it, no expression on his face.

“It’s vouchers,” I told him, coming up to his side and pointing as he leafed. “You tear them out and give them to me when you want to redeem them. See, that one is for night out at the Indian. You know, Monsoon on the High Street?” I explained.

Yikes!

I kept going. “And that one is for, my treat, a movie at the Curzon. You can even have a box of that icky sweet popcorn if you like.”

Ack!

I kept on talking. “And that one is for a scalp massage. I have this great copper tool that Su bought me a couple birthdays ago that you scrape on your scalp. I know, it sounds awful but it… is… f*cking… fantastic.” I stopped to look at him and then pulled back at the expression on his face.

“You okay?” I asked.

He nodded and turned fully to me.

I retreated.

“Do you like it?” I asked.

He came after me, stalking me again, the look on his face melting my insides.

“Yeah, I like it,” he said and tossed the book and tin on the table.

Hmm.

What to do?

He was going to think something was up, why would I move away? He knew I liked him.

There was no reason I’d move away. Especially on his birthday.

We’d slept together.

He’d given me the Big O.

He thought I thought he might die for me.

Yikes!

So I stopped retreating and ran toward him, threw myself at him and kissed him.

Goddess, leaves, twigs and trees, it was, as always, fabulous.

He took over the kiss and all thoughts of betrayal flew from my mind.

This wasn’t hard at all.

“Happy birthday,” I said (a lot softer this time) when his lips left mine.

“Who’s Gabriel?”

Ack!

Single-minded bastard.

He went on, “Is he the vampire you met at The Hobgoblin?”

Ackity ack ack!

Ack!

“You know about that?” (Me)

“Yes.” (Aidan)

“How? Derek?” (Me)

“Well, him and half a dozen others who witnessed the brawl.” (Aidan)

Oops.

“Why did you hire a vampire?” (Aidan)

“I can’t, er… tell you.” (Goddess, did I wish I could lie. Okay, I take it back, this was hard.)

His arms tightened.

“Matty…” (Aidan, all warning)

“Aidan, you’re just going to have to trust me.” (Me)

Ha. Trust! That was a joke.

No response.

“Please?” (Me again, trying to be girlie cute, tipping my head to the side and everything)

He stared at me.

I stared back.

Boy, did I need to win this staring contest.

Okay, so I couldn’t win the staring contest.

So I kissed him instead.

It took a bit.

He fought it.

But I worked hard, giving it my all.

Then with a groan he gave in, backing me into the lounge, twisting at the last minute and seating himself, taking me with him, not breaking the kiss and lounging back in one smooth move with me on top.

Finally, after my body melted into his due to his superior tongue action, his fingers in my hair fisted gently and tugged even more gently and he asked, “Do you know what you’re doing?”

I gave my stock answer, “I never know what I’m doing.”

He twisted me so he was (mostly) on top of me.

I don’t know what it is and if other girls feel this way but there is something very nice about the weight of a man on you, especially a man who smelled like wood, vanilla and musk with a hint of citrus (Lalique Le Lion, mm…).

“Matty,” he called, his voice lower than normal, a virtual rumble that travelled along my body like a physical thing, “now is not the time to be playing around.”

“Aidan,” I said in all seriousness as I put my hand on his cheek, “really, you’re just going to have to trust me.”

He might not think I was doing the right thing.

But I was.

He dipped his head so his face was close to mine and he whispered, “Something isn’t right with you.”

I rubbed my nose against his.

Then I teased, “You think? I mean, less than a year ago, I was a girl with the simple dream of one day owning a $3,500 Hermes Birkin Bag. Now, look at me, look at this place,” I flicked out a hand to encompass my Magic Room, “look at my life. We’re on the cusp of war, Aidan, and I’m Che Guevara.”

Finally he grinned. “Che was just the face of the revolution. It was Fidel who was the heart. The reason you see so much of Che is because he was photogenic.”

Ack!

“I know but I don’t want to be Fidel. He’s hairy, cigar-chomping and icky,” I informed him.

Aidan touched his lips to mine then pulled back and stated, “Believe me, you don’t want to be Che. Che came to a nasty end in a Bolivian jungle.”

Yikes!

I didn’t need to be reminded of that.