Mathilda, SuperWitch (Mathilda's Book of Shadows #1)(89)

Ash held the shirt out in front of him and then looked around it to me.

I’m so lame.

I bought an Alexander McQueen dress shirt for Sebastian Wilding – man of mystery.

A man who does t’ai chi in the garden with utter concentration even when Mom is singing Janis Joplin at the top of her lungs while digging in the tulips.

A man who breaks down doors and grabs guns out of shaking criminal hands without blinking an eye.

A man who trades a Jag XJS for an Audi TT coupe without any apparent financial heart attacks.

He probably had a dozen Alexander McQueen shirts and Armani and Hugo Boss…

“I didn’t know what to get you. Maybe I should have got you that Burberry umbrella,” I muttered, staring at my toes (painted hot, hot, hot pink).

Since I was staring at my toes, I didn’t notice the hand whipping out until it had a hold of the front of my t-shirt.

One tug and I fell forward, not too far because I collided with the hard wall of Ash’s chest and he crushed me in his arms, kissing me.

Deep.

Hot.

Wet.

And long.

“I love it,” he murmured when he let me go. Then he picked up his cake and walked down the steps to The Dungeon.

Welp, guess that meant he wasn’t sharing his cake.

I stared until the darkness swallowed him and then I shut the door.

And I leaned my forehead against it.

And let me tell you, it was right then that I realized I was really, really in trouble.

Really.

Because, I was in love with Sebastian Wilding.

Ack.

And I was pretty certain he liked me too.

A lot.

Worse still, I was in love with Aidan Seymour.

Ack.

I knew it the minute Aidan had grabbed my neck and kissed me on the nose, about to search for another room to sleep in even when he was “shattered.”

And he liked me too.

A lot.

The question was… why?

Why did these two fabulous men like me?

Destiny?

Was it as simple as that?

I think not.

I opened the door again and before I could stop myself, I ran down the steps.

Well, not all of the steps, about half a dozen of them before I had to stop.

“Ash!” I shouted.

Before I could lose (more) of my courage, I went down two more steps then felt something whipping against my ankles.

It felt like a rat’s tail.

(Although I’ve never felt a rat’s tail whip against my ankle, I figured that’s what it would feel like.)

I whimpered.

“I hate The Dungeon,” I whispered to myself. “Hate it, hate it, hate it.”

(Pause.)

“Ash!” I shouted.

I stood there then turned back to the door and the precious light of safety and freedom coming from the main house then I turned to look back down to the dark stairs.

What was I doing? Why was I down there?

I knew why… I had to ask… I had to know.

“Ash!”

There was an ominous creak.

And then, I kid you not, the door slammed behind me.

Ack!

Total darkness and I was (kind of) in The Dungeons.

“Holy f**k, shit, f**k, f**k, f**k.” I ran back up the stairs while screeching, “Ash!”

I ran smack into the door, tried the knob, it wouldn’t open.

I tried it again.

It still wouldn’t open.

Holy f**k, shit, f**k, f**k, f**k!

I started banging on the door with my fists.

“Ash!”

Something settled on my shoulder and I screamed at the top of my lungs like someone straight out of a horror movie.

“Mathilda.” Ash turned me, grabbed both arms and shook me gently. “Calm down.”

Then he reached across me and opened the door.

What?

I stared at the door.

Oh well, who cared, whatever, the door was open.

Happy light flooded in and I sighed with relief.

I was too relieved to be embarrassed about my scaredy-cat display.

“I hate The Dungeons,” I told him.

“You don’t say.”

I took a good look at him.

Ohmygoddess.

He was wearing the shirt.

He’d changed into the shirt.

And it looked good.

Really good.

“It fits!” I cried.

Ash didn’t say anything for a second.

Then he asked, “You tried to go down, didn’t you?”

I nodded.

“I think I got down more than five steps,” I stated proudly.

“Excellent progress.” He grinned. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why’d you try to go down?”

Mm.

Well.

After the trauma I’d just endured, I’d lost my nerve.

“Mathilda?” he prompted.

Okay, well, why the hell not?

“Why do you like me?” I asked him.

“What?”

“Why do you like me?”

“Like you?”

“Yeah, like me? Kiss me, touch me, protect me, wanna marry me, give me the big O – you know, like me?”

Ash stared at me. What he didn’t do was speak.