Annette Blair Read Online Free Page B

and he came away with nothing but the heat of one fine firm breast scorching his hand.
    Jason reared back, stung . . . and ready, and closed his fingers into his fist to retain her heat. Lush breasts, tiny waist, a bottom to fill his hands, and sink into. An hourglassfigure that the women who’d once run this house would envy. Or . . . as the guys in the locker room would say: excellent butt, great rack.
    They both chose to ignore the unexpected body check, though it was all Jason could do not to reach for more.
    He didn’t need to wonder whether she’d felt the shock of it. He could tell by the slow-rising soft russet stain washing the freckles from her pale Irish complexion.
    Mesmerized, Jason watched each speckle blend with the blush and wondered how many freckles dotted the landscape where the blush began. He’d like to explore that uncharted territory at his leisure.
    The way her tube dress was slipping, and her full alabaster breasts were emerging, it looked like fate was setting up his shot.
    Their eyes met and held. Could she read him? Did he want her to?
    She whisked her wand behind her back. “Hey,” she said, as if challenged by that hot bit of eye contact. “It’s my wand and it’s important to me.” She brought the slender wooden rod forward, stroked and regarded it with the kind of affection usually reserved for a lover.
    Was she coming on to him?
    “You wouldn’t let just anybody touch your —” Her head snapped up.
    “Hockey stick?” Okay, so she hadn’t intended a come-on. Given the size of her eyes, she’d only just caught her own meaning. Her chin rose and her freckles disappeared again.
    Jason thought it best to deny his fascination over the process and went around her desk to open the top drawer. “Let’s leave the wand here while we go to the meeting, shall we?” He opened his hand again, but to no avail.
    The witch went to the opposite side of her desk and faced him over the expanse. “No. I mean it. You can’t touch it. A magic wand is personal. It symbolizes the life-force within the witch to whom it belongs. You could ruin it with negativeenergy, bad vibes, bad karma, dark moods, whatever. The damage would be unseen, but devastating. Your very touch could spoil my magic.”
    She took a long, slim purple velvet drawstring bag from her blazer pocket, slipped her handy-dandy man-drooper inside, pulled the string tight, and placed the package lovingly in her briefcase. “There, it’s safe, and so are you . . . for now.”
    Jason faltered in his walk back her way.
    She backed up, and bumped her hip on her desk. “You wouldn’t want a rookie playing with your stick, now, would you?”
    He cocked a brow, but she’d turned to her desk. “Someday, after I know you better,” she said, searching her desk, “I might let you touch my wand, but don’t count on it.”
    “Ditto,” he said, raising the smoke-scented tension.
    She froze, bit her lip, and searched harder.
    “I apologize,” he said, and she nodded.
    With nothing more to be said—nothing safe to be said—she returned to her cubby, where the window met her computer table, which met her desk. There she sat, showing him her back, and giving her keyboard her full and fast-fingered attention.
    Jason entered his office and closed the door between them.
    “Ditto?” he repeated incredulously. “Ditto?”
    Shaking his head over his idiocy, over his big mouth, both feet inside, he wondered what else Gram had been angling for, and it had better not be a rebound.
    He really had given up on women, though he could never prove it by his reaction to this one. Berries, he thought; she smelled of ripe summer berries, and carried a lethal weapon.
    Jason didn’t know Gram’s office staff well, but he was reasonably certain that Little Miss “Wither Your Penis” was not his grandmother’s standard choice.
    Plus, Gram had never before opened their home to afoundation employee. Then again, as she had just finished reminding