Cade Bourdain inherited his father’s thirst for power, drawing him into darker areas of magick. Despite his dislike for the “Fluffy Bunny” Wiccans, he feels an unearthly connection to Ever.
the front door. His first knock shoved the door in, revealing a cool, dim
handle, holding the door still as he knocked again. “Hello?”
threshold. On the one hand, barging into someone’s home — especially someone
who wasn’t necessarily a friend — wasn’t cool. On the other, what if Ever was
home alone and something had happened to her?
as if it weren’t fitted properly into its frame. The screen door slammed shut
behind him, the sound an obtrusive crack in the hushed silence.
opening to his right revealed a battered dining table and chairs, guarded by an
impressive sideboard and a painting of a meadow. To his left, a living room
with stuffed couches and no television, but a nice marble fireplace that took
up nearly an entire wall.
himself in the kitchen. The oven was on, ticking into the silence. Something
smelled gingery and delicious. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until
assaulted by the scent. He stepped closer to the oven, curiosity drawing him to
peek into it.
knocking over a pitcher resting on the counter. Tea gushed across the Formica
and waterfalled to the floor
gauze taped to her hairline, but sporting an amused smile. “Yep. Should
definitely leave the dogs inside. Maybe they’ll keep out snooping intruders set
on spilling my sweet tea.”
sink, then glanced around for a towel. “The front door was open, and you didn’t
answer. I thought something might have happened to you. I didn’t know how
badly…” His voice trailed off as he eyed the bandage on her head. “Did he
really hurt you?”
stitches. But I’ll survive.”
towels for clean up. As she bent to wipe up the floor, Cade jumped forward.
“No, let me. I made the mess.”
close to Ever’s bare legs he could feel her heat. She smelled good, like
something earthy, and the curve of her anklebone was fascinating. He stole
glances at her smooth, golden calves, muscles clenching as she swiped at the
spilled tea. He couldn’t help but imagine what it would feel like to reach out
and touch her, to slide his fingertips up her skin, over her knee; to press his
lips to the softly rounded curve of her thigh beneath the hem of her shorts.
sliding through the puddle of amber liquid. “Um, what?”
her foot. Another part of him noticed her tiny toes, painted a vivid shade of
blue, and the silver circlet on her left second toe. Even her feet were cute.
backwards to wipe it off with her own towel.
like a swan, all grace and ease. He’d never been this close to her, close
enough to notice all the little things most people ignored, like the beauty
mark just beneath her jawbone or the perfect hourglass her curves made in that
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Muffy was born in Texas to traditional parents. With two older brothers, she was the youngest, the family “princess,” indulged and pampered. Her father was a career Colonel and pilot in the U.S. Air Force which required the family to travel extensively. Muffy spent her formative years in Europe and ‘came of age’ in France which forged her joie de vivre and love for books and writing. Married and living in the tropical paradise of SW Florida along the Gulf Coast, Muffy writes and enjoys life in the sun with her husband and wee Havanese pup, Buddy.
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