Mathilda, SuperWitch (Mathilda's Book of Shadows #1)(62)

In about two strides, he crossed the room, grabbed me, hauled me into his arms, held me close to his body and kissed me.

Hard.

And wet.

None of the sweet, professorial mucking about but straight into the juicy, heady, full-on lip and tongue action.

Oh. My. Goddess.

Yum-mee.

He lifted his head. “I’ll be back tonight at seven. I’m taking you to a dinner party. It’s evening dress. Will you be able to do that?”

Er, wha?

I was still reeling from the kiss; my arms were still around his neck, my fingers still in his hair, my body still flat against his. My jersey was up around my waist and one of his hands was cupping my ass.

Yes, cupping my ass.

And it felt nice.

“Matty?” he prompted.

Ack!

“Evening dress? Like, gowns?” I asked.

“Yes.”

I nodded.

Of course I could do evening gowns. I didn’t work in retail for twelve years with nothing to show for it.

Then he was off.

What a way to wake up.

* * * * *

Fashion Show:

I installed everyone I could find into my little lounge and put on the Versace that took me three months of determined saving, a fifty percent off sale and my twenty-five percent employee discount to afford.

Yays all around (except Althea who shook her head disapprovingly).

Next.

I tried my Ralph Lauren little black dress. It was ready-to-wear but it was fabulous.

Everyone loved it (except Althea who again said not a word but shook her head).

Next.

The Dolce and Gabbana (yes: everyone else, no: Althea this time with a burp, charming).

Next.

The Vintage Valentino that I’d uncovered at the very back room on the very back rack of a used clothing shop. (Yes: everyone else, no: Althea).

Next.

The circa-70’s Halston I picked up when my drag queen friend retired (Althea: no).

Ack!

I was running out of evening wear!

It would appear that I would have to pull out all the stops.

I teetered on my vanity stool, pulling the big, shiny box out of the back of the top shelf of the wardrobe.

I unwrapped the layers and layers of tissue and pulled out…

The Chanel.

I’d had to beg, borrow and steal (okay, not steal) to get it and when I did, I promised myself I’d never wear it. That I would be happy just to own it, just to know it was there.

I didn’t want to expose it to the possibility of such common things as sweat, wine spills and snags.

It was too precious for any of that.

But, if nothing else would do…

It was matte black, exquisitely heavy, flowing silk. The long skirt was cut on the bias, giving the silk even more personality. Sleeveless with a boat neck, it clung beautifully to the body. At the back, there was a deep vee that ended at the base of the spine. There was a simple, not extravagant, gather at the vee which flowed down the back of the skirt into the eensy, weensy train.

I swept up my hair and added a tangled choker of slim, sleek, teeny, jet beads.

I put on my black mules that had toes so pointed and heels so stiletto, they could be used as a weapon.

Then I walked into the lounge.

Finally, Althea nodded.

It took the next three hours, eleven phone calls and some hair pulling to find an evening bag that both worked with the dress and held my wand. (Pandora’s slim, long, thin beaded number – very posh.)

Sorted.

I opened the door to Aidan when he arrived.

He took one look at me and said, “Nice frock.”

Humph.

Nice frock!?

Probably had dinner with Karl Lagerfeld last night or something.

* * * * *

The dinner party was in Bath.

Bath is one of the most beautiful cities in the world. It was all built out of this lovely, creamy stone, all of it from the same quarry and its architecture was absolutely regal.

And it had a Prada store.

* * * * *

“Aidan!” Douglas Addison said when we’d been admitted into a lovely, large house on Bath’s Royal Crescent and escorted into the drawing room.

“Doug,” Aidan replied.

Ack!

All hearty handshakes and me trying to be cool while scanning for Agatha Darling.

“Miss Honeycutt, this is a delightful surprise,” Douglas murmured while kissing my fingers, he straightened and turned to Aidan. “Aidan, you didn’t tell me you were bringing this ravishing lady.” Then his eyes came to me. “You look beautiful.”

The last bit was said low and with feeling, for my ears only. Again, not flirty, just a heartfelt compliment.

What was he playing at?

“Let’s get you drinks, shall we?” Douglas suggested before I could reply to his compliment and off we went to the bar where I got a real vodka martini in a chilled glass with an olive stuffed with an almond (chic touch). Aidan and Douglas talked while I continued to try to find her or sense her – whichever worked.

“She’s not here and won’t be,” Aidan whispered in my ear.

I started paying attention to my immediate surroundings to see Douglas was off to welcome more guests and I turned to Aidan.

“What is this, why are we here?” I asked.

“It’s a dinner party,” he answered.