Not Your Ex's Hexes (Supernatural Singles, #2)(11)

“You say tutoring, and I call it a slow, methodical torture-session in the guise of magical tutoring. But fine, you’re right. It’ll never work … namely because I’m pretty certain Gran installed some kind of magical DNA detector on her front door. But your day is bound to be better than mine. I mean, cute, fuzzy animals.”

It wasn’t the animals that had Rose wishing the Council had actually opted to give her public bathroom duty. At least then she’d know what to expect … but it wasn’t as though she could explain that to Vi without admitting what happened between her and Damian at the Bonding Announcement Party.

Rose stared at the two-story barnlike structure in front of her. It only looked a small fraction better in the daylight than it did at night, its weathered wood showing beneath the gaps of old, chipped paint.

“I should go,” Rose admitted reluctantly. “The sooner I start, the sooner I’ll be done. And I’ll probably be doing office-type work, right?”

“Sure. Maybe…” Vi went way too quiet to put Rose at ease.

“Do you know some—”

“Have a good day, sis!”

“Wait! What—?”

The dial tone drilled into her eardrum, and then there was nothing to do but go inside and hope for the best. Clutching her coffee to her chest, she followed the sound of softly playing rock music from the half-open barn door.

Mud already caked her new Converse sneakers in a thick layer by the time she stepped inside. “Hello? Is anyone around?”

The sharp smell of hay and poop overwhelmed her senses, making her eyes water. She knocked on the doorjamb. “Hello?”

No answer.

The barn appeared empty and unlike the exterior, was surprisingly clean and tidy, grooming supplies organized and hung up on the walls like decorations. From two of the stalls on her left, Butternut and Squash poked their heads over their open doors.

“Hey, girls.” Rose smiled and after letting them both smell her hands, rubbed the soft patch of white on each horse’s forehead. “Guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other, huh?”

Butternut huffed as if answering, her breath moving Rose’s hair from her face. The witch laughed, giving her nose another stroke just as a low humming from one of the end stalls reached her ears.

She followed the low, honey-slick voice until it was abruptly cut off with a growling curse.

In the last stall, bent over and revealing a prime view of a jean-clad rear end, a shirtless man worked hard peeling away what looked to be rotten wooden boards from the wall. Sweat coated his tan skin, creating a sleek glow even beneath the barn’s dim lighting.

And the tattoos …

She didn’t know which one to ogle first, deciding on the one that spread the entire width of his back, from shoulder to broad shoulder … a winged creature with horns, vivid in a rainbow of colors. With every glide of muscles, it almost looked as if it was dancing, moving with every flex.

Rose’s mouth dried as the man used his bare hands to pull away yet another rotten board from the wall. It was the only dry part of her body because desire took her by storm, flooding her nearly as severely as it had the night at Potion’s.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” an unexpected voice asked from over her shoulder.

Rose squeaked in surprise, whipping around. An older man, somewhere in his late sixties or seventies, with long graying hair and kind brown eyes, smiled at her warmly as his gaze flickered past her to the muscle-fest she’d been caught ogling.

He held out his hand. “You must be Rose Maxwell.”

“That’s me.” She accepted the greeting and wrapped her fingers around his. An immediate telltale tingle on the back of her neck told her that her visual eye candy had stopped working.

Busted.

“I’m Miguel Sanchez. Resident retired vet. And the half-naked one behind you is our resident grumpy vet-slash-handyman … Damian.”

No, no, no.

Rose briefly closed her eyes on a soft sigh before shifting to put Damian in her view. “We’ve actually met a time or two.”

She’d known he’d had the body of a Roman god, but she’d come to that conclusion by touch alone since for their one and only time together, they’d remained mostly clothed. She sure as hell hadn’t seen the elaborate artwork decorating his skin, or the smooth glide of his firmly packed muscles.

Her gaze automatically dropped to his chest and Goddess help her, the ridged valley of his eight-pack abs and that sexy Adonis belt …

She yanked her gaze up, but her ogling didn’t go without notice.

Damian cocked a single eyebrow, his mouth twitching. “Long time no see, little witch. Oh, and you’re late.”

“I’m right on time.”

“Right on time is late when it comes to handling the animals. That’s the first thing you should probably commit to memory.”

She forced a smile. “Then consider it memorized.”

Miguel’s focus bounced between them before the older man smothered a grin. “I’ll leave the two of you to go over things. Ian, I’m heading to the supply store to change up our order and see where we can make some tweaks.”

“Sounds good.” Damian nodded.

They both watched Miguel disappear from view, and when Rose spun around, it was Damian’s turn to ogle her. His gaze ran from her no-longer pristine white sneakers to her butter-soft jeans and silky tee … but unlike her blatantly sexual appraisal, his was more assessing.