Annette Blair Read Online Free Page A

never happened before, though as Kira watched them writhe in naked harmony—like a deer in headlights, unable to take her gaze from the sight—she thought they looked like they’d rehearsed, and plenty. Charlie’s enthusiasm had been like nothing Kira had ever known . . . until he saw her and had the balls to be pissed by her interruption.
    An eye-opener . . . in so many ways.
    True, her sister had tried for months to talk her out of marrying Charlie, and ultimately Regan had not only saved Kira from a close call with a ball-fumbling jerk-off, her sister had kept her from having to explain what a loser she was to everyone they knew, because, lucky for her, she’d caught them before she mailed her wedding invitations.
    Maybe someday she would thank her sister, as Regan had brazenly predicted. She might even be able to forgive her. Maybe. But Kira knew that she would never be able to trust her own judgment again, not where cocky jocks were concerned, and especially not in regards to a certain infamous silver-eyed jock of the wolf variety.
    “ Mizz Fitzgerald!” Goddard’s growl crackled through the ancient intercom, as if to confirm his predatory nature. “Staff meeting in five minutes,” he snapped. “The boardroom.”
    Kira rose and saluted . . . and Goddard opened the door.

Three
    JASON stopped dead at the sight of the copper-haired witch mocking him. “At ease,” he said, tongue in cheek, more charmed than annoyed by her salute, though, truth to tell, he had been a bit of both since he’d caught her casting a man-withering spell on foundation time.
    A witch. His grandmother had hired “an honest-to-goddess witch,” to quote Gram. Kira Fitzgerald, it seemed, had raised a great deal of money at the Museum of Witchcraft, and Gram expected her to do the same here, under his directorship—if he, and all his man-parts, survived, that was.
    She stood there in an edgy black dress that raced his blood and turned it south, sliding notebooks, files, a day planner, pens, and highlighters into her briefcase, like any normal businesswoman . . . radiating pure sex.
    Jason shifted his stance to ease the weight on his bad knee, not sure if he was grateful, or sorry, that he’d sworn off women, especially since this one made fiery magic, only one of the reasons he found her fascinating . . . and dangerous.
    Damn it, he always did like to play with fire.
    He’d come in for a pre-meeting briefing, but his focus had changed in the face of the paradox, or to put it more bluntly, in the face of his need to keep the paradox from noting his interest.
    She slipped her wand into her briefcase and brought him crashing to earth. “Wait! You’re not taking that man-drooper into my meeting.”
    “What?”
    He crooked his fingers. “Give me the wand.”
    “This?” She dangled the smooth sensually carved staff by its lavender-faceted tip, as if it were a prize. Her sable lashes lowered over her gleaming emerald eyes, daring him to come closer.
    Damned if she wasn’t taking a fiendish delight in making him work for it, or in finding a reason to “stick it to him.” She wasn’t even waving the wand, and she was working a brand of sorcery.
    Worse, he was exhilarated by her challenge. “Yes, that,” Jason said on a scowl—or he hoped he’d scowled, because the sparkle in her eyes made it difficult to be stern.
    “Why shouldn’t I bring it to the meeting?” she asked with deceptive innocence. “I like to keep my wand handy.”
    “So you can take a shot at my . . . hockey stick? That would be a no . I wouldn’t be able to think straight.”
    “Hah! I knew it! Men do think with their . . . sticks.”
    Jason frowned and remembered how much she annoyed him despite the attraction, so he presented his open palm with firm finality, to remind her who was boss. “Give it here, Mizz Fitzgerald.”
    He stepped toward her and she stepped back.
    “No!” She brought the wand to her heart as he reached for it,