Eloise,’ he murmured. He leaned over and robbed her body of its breath in one long kiss. ‘Have a good night’s sleep.’
Sleep? How could she sleep when every demolished inch of her craved fulfillment? He’d skillfully brought her to the boil then turned off the heat. Her body had fragmented into marshmallow pieces, each one flavored with different desires. She’d never sleep again, just drift in the heaven his wonderful hands had created for her and imagine ...? Imagine he was Andrew?
There was only one problem. Try as she might, Ellie couldn’t recall Andrew’s face.
Chapter Six
For every action there was a reaction. Ellie scowled at the rain teeming down the window. If she hadn’t messed with the spell-book it wouldn’t have rained, and she wouldn’t be spending her holiday pandering to a misogynist with a hair-trigger temper.
The rapport that seemed to exist between them when they’d shared the intimacy of the massage had evaporated the next morning. It was as if he’d revealed some softer part of his nature, regretted the lapse, and had decided to establish some distance between them.
Turning to the cooker she lifted the lid of the pan, stabbed moodily at the potatoes with a fork and muttered. ‘I just hope you like shepherd’s pie, Patch Morgan.’ She carried the pan to the sink and upended its contents into a colander to drain. ‘Come to that, I hope it turns out to be shepherd’s pie. You’ll probably inform me I should have used real shepherds instead of lamb mince.’
Over the past few days Patrick hadn’t let one meal go by without making some sort of disparaging comment. The previous day he’d told her if she didn’t have a spell to take the lumps from the gravy she could always try straining it. The day before that the carrots had only been fit for donkeys to eat. He’d eaten them anyway, she thought with a grin. This morning the toast had got stuck in the toaster and had caused a minor fire when her back was turned.
‘Even a sorcerer can manage toast,’ he’d muttered, his eyes blistering her. ‘One flick of the fingers and hocus-pocus!’ His fingers had snapped under her nose, making her jump and he’d grinned. ‘Try that, Ellie. It just might work.’
If wish fulfillment actually worked he’d now be wearing a slimy wart-covered frog skin instead of his ravishing set of muscles.
Vigorously applying the masher to the potatoes she whipped them into a fluffy mountain, and then grinned to herself as she spread them over the mince. Michelangelo couldn’t have formed a better likeness of Patrick on top. She’d try anything to extract a microcosm of humility from her adversary. Placing the dish in the oven she glanced over her shoulder to make sure he wasn’t around, then snapped her fingers at it. ‘Hocus-pocus!’
At first she thought that the bright flash that filled the kitchen was the oven blowing up. Then an ominous rumble of thunder tumbled overhead. It was coincidence, she thought, trying not to panic as she gazed uneasily at Scruff for reassurance.
No help was forthcoming from him. Scruff’s fur ridged along his back, he gave her a yellow baleful stare, and then squeezed himself under the dresser for safety.
‘Very funny.’
A second flash of lightning set Ellie’s heart on overdrive. The terrifying thunderclap that accompanied it brought a panicky gasp to her lips. Then the electricity flickered rapidly on and off before failing altogether and plunging her into darkness. She considered joining Scruff under the dresser.
* * * *
Why was she panicking? Thunderstorms didn’t usually have this effect on her. Thoroughly rattled she groped her way towards the door, and then yelped as the lightning illuminated a devilish figure in the doorway.
Without giving a second thought she lashed out at it. There was a grunt as her fist connected with something hard, or was it a growl? Then she was pinioned in its arms.
‘Take it easy,
Sleep? How could she sleep when every demolished inch of her craved fulfillment? He’d skillfully brought her to the boil then turned off the heat. Her body had fragmented into marshmallow pieces, each one flavored with different desires. She’d never sleep again, just drift in the heaven his wonderful hands had created for her and imagine ...? Imagine he was Andrew?
There was only one problem. Try as she might, Ellie couldn’t recall Andrew’s face.
Chapter Six
For every action there was a reaction. Ellie scowled at the rain teeming down the window. If she hadn’t messed with the spell-book it wouldn’t have rained, and she wouldn’t be spending her holiday pandering to a misogynist with a hair-trigger temper.
The rapport that seemed to exist between them when they’d shared the intimacy of the massage had evaporated the next morning. It was as if he’d revealed some softer part of his nature, regretted the lapse, and had decided to establish some distance between them.
Turning to the cooker she lifted the lid of the pan, stabbed moodily at the potatoes with a fork and muttered. ‘I just hope you like shepherd’s pie, Patch Morgan.’ She carried the pan to the sink and upended its contents into a colander to drain. ‘Come to that, I hope it turns out to be shepherd’s pie. You’ll probably inform me I should have used real shepherds instead of lamb mince.’
Over the past few days Patrick hadn’t let one meal go by without making some sort of disparaging comment. The previous day he’d told her if she didn’t have a spell to take the lumps from the gravy she could always try straining it. The day before that the carrots had only been fit for donkeys to eat. He’d eaten them anyway, she thought with a grin. This morning the toast had got stuck in the toaster and had caused a minor fire when her back was turned.
‘Even a sorcerer can manage toast,’ he’d muttered, his eyes blistering her. ‘One flick of the fingers and hocus-pocus!’ His fingers had snapped under her nose, making her jump and he’d grinned. ‘Try that, Ellie. It just might work.’
If wish fulfillment actually worked he’d now be wearing a slimy wart-covered frog skin instead of his ravishing set of muscles.
Vigorously applying the masher to the potatoes she whipped them into a fluffy mountain, and then grinned to herself as she spread them over the mince. Michelangelo couldn’t have formed a better likeness of Patrick on top. She’d try anything to extract a microcosm of humility from her adversary. Placing the dish in the oven she glanced over her shoulder to make sure he wasn’t around, then snapped her fingers at it. ‘Hocus-pocus!’
At first she thought that the bright flash that filled the kitchen was the oven blowing up. Then an ominous rumble of thunder tumbled overhead. It was coincidence, she thought, trying not to panic as she gazed uneasily at Scruff for reassurance.
No help was forthcoming from him. Scruff’s fur ridged along his back, he gave her a yellow baleful stare, and then squeezed himself under the dresser for safety.
‘Very funny.’
A second flash of lightning set Ellie’s heart on overdrive. The terrifying thunderclap that accompanied it brought a panicky gasp to her lips. Then the electricity flickered rapidly on and off before failing altogether and plunging her into darkness. She considered joining Scruff under the dresser.
* * * *
Why was she panicking? Thunderstorms didn’t usually have this effect on her. Thoroughly rattled she groped her way towards the door, and then yelped as the lightning illuminated a devilish figure in the doorway.
Without giving a second thought she lashed out at it. There was a grunt as her fist connected with something hard, or was it a growl? Then she was pinioned in its arms.
‘Take it easy,
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