I nodded. “So the fire?”
He wiggled his fingers in front of me.
“And the love spell?”
He laughed. “The peppercorns made me suspicious. When I saw your heart pendant tonight, I recognized it from my mom’s shop.”
My cheeks heated, and not from the heat of the bonfire. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“Don’t be.” He kissed me again. “Those spells don’t work.”
“How do you know?”
“It’s against coven rules to influence emotions.”
“Yet okay for us mere mortals to think they do?”
“It’s all about the power of suggestion.” He looked smug.
“So, according to you, the spell didn’t work?”
“Right.”
“But you’re kissing me.”
“Not right now I’m not.” He kissed the corner of my mouth. “Or now.” He kissed the other corner, then smiled.
I smiled back.
“I like you, Madison. A lot. I have since you were a freshman.”
I scrunched up my nose. “I didn’t know you then.” I stopped. “Oh. The boy no one notices.”
He nodded, watching me carefully with a guarded expression.
“A bio-chem major in an English lit seminar?”
He shrugged. “I honestly like to read, but maybe I found out you’d be in Philips’ class.”
“Magic?”
“Friend works in the registrar’s office.”
“Any other magic I should know about?”
He looked down at his feet. “Maybe.”
I used my finger to tip up his chin.
“Hamilton’s chair didn’t fall on its own.”
My eyebrows touched my hairline. “I thought I wished that!”
“You kind of did. I could read your face and helped a little.”
“When else?”
“The rain when you wouldn’t accept my umbrella.”
“You can control the weather?”
He nodded. “Not in the grand scheme of things, but temporarily.”
“And Sam canceling coffee?”
Pressing his lips together, he shook his head. “A happy coincidence. I was working on something, but didn’t need to use it.”
“So you’re a real witch.”
He grinned. “I am. And you’re a Bradbury girl.”
Sarah’s strange words echoed in my head. A brown-haired Bradbury girl.
“I am.” I gave him a quizzical look.
“Mary Bradbury survived the Salem witch trials, but Sarah Wildes didn’t. There’s a long history between our families. And…” he paused and exhaled, “My mother saw you coming into my life two years ago.”
“Freshman year.”
He nodded, pulling me into his arms.
“You must have been relieved she didn’t say Dorcus Hoar was to be your true love.”
Andrew threw his head back and laughed. “So relieved.”
“Poor Dorcus. Persecuted when alive, and mocked in death.”
“I can call you Dorcus, if you feel so bad.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Please don’t.” I laughed and kissed him between chuckles. Laugh-kissing was better than snort-laughing.
He stopped laughing and his eyes focused on mine. “I’ve been waiting for you for a long time.”
I would have said more, but his lips crashed against mine, and I knew he’d waited long enough.
Whoops and screams coming down the lawn broke us apart, but Andrew held fast to my hand, not letting me move away from his side. Various partygoers tumbled toward the fire, among them Tate and Sarah walking close together, arms entwined.
I met Andrew’s eye and he kissed my forehead. “Don’t tell Sam her spell didn’t work either.”
My eyes widened, but I laughed.
If she needed to believe in spells, so be it.
I believed in real magic.
Thanks for reading Bewitched! I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I loved writing it. I had fun branching out into New Adult and paranormal. If you enjoyed the humor and the falling in love parts, please check out my other books, which have both of those elements without the paranormal twist.
Special thanks to Allison Smith, Nadine Silber, Suzanne, and SO for reading early drafts of this story. It's better because of your input. Thank you to my editor Melissa Ringsted and proofreader Marla Esposito for fixing my crimes against grammar and giving my writing a final polish.
Look for more shorts and novels from me coming soon. Be sure to sign up for my mailing list for the latest news, exclusives, and giveaways.
Happy Reading!
Before writing bestselling contemporary adult romances, Daisy dreamed of being an author while doing a lot of other things. Antiques dealer, baker, blue ribbon pie-maker, fangirl, freelance writer, gardener, pet mom and wife are a few of the titles she's acquired over the years.
Born and raised in San Diego, Daisy currently lives in a real life Stars Hollow in the Boston suburbs with her husband, their dog Hubbell, and a still nameless imaginary house goat.
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Geoducks Are for Lovers (Modern Love Story #1)
Ready to Fall (Modern Love Story #2)
Missionary Position (Modern Love Story #3)
Take Two (Modern Love Story Short)
Red Rum
by Ashley Pullo
Trick o’ treat, a girl to meet. Blood Sangria wicked sweet.
Copyright © Ashley Pullo 2014, All rights reserved.
eBook edition
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design by Ashley Pullo
Proofed by Proofing Style, Inc./Marla Esposito
First Digital Edition October 2014
The tiny black bowler hat, mustache, and unlit cigarette are the perfect editions to my crime scene photo. After disguising my hostage, I shove the remaining Potato Head parts back in my desk drawer, and then scribble a ransom note on a Post-it. Positioning the succulent in a compromising pose with my stapler, I snap a photo. Adam will be pissed — he’s been looking for his potted cactus for days.
ME: image
Adam: you fucking asshole.
Laughing hysterically, I text back.
ME: Mr. Prickly will return to you in exchange for a case of Shiner.
“Mr. Brooks?”
I throw back a handful of candy corn before pressing the intercom button. “Yes, Roberta?”
“There have been some complaints about loud music coming from your office,” Roberta drones.
“Complaints? Who would object to The Old '97s?”
She doesn’t respond.
I check the volume on my iPod dock — if Adam is trying to get back at me by whining about my music, then it’s a pathetic attempt. “Roberta, I’ll lower it if you snag me some Rice Krispie treats from the pantry.” I smile to myself, knowing that bargaining is against her secretarial creed.
Being an associate at a prestigious Manhattan law firm comes with a shitload of rules and agendas. It also serves as a breeding ground for arrogant assholes to strut around like peacocks only to have frumpy secretaries put them in their place. Except for my buddy Adam Ford — he hit the jackpot when he made partner. His secretary is all boobs and mostly brains, but my secretary could frighten a gargoyle.
