One pack, one coven, a destiny intertwined…
The microwave pinged and Skye jumped.
Stupid. Jumping at microwaves!
This is what happened when you had the kind of overbearing grandmother who sent people to follow you around on your holiday. Paranoia.
Slamming her hand against the button, she barely waited for the door to swing open before grabbing the bowl. Soup spilled over her thumb.
‘Fudge a fudgy-duck!’ She put the dripping soup bowl down on the bench and sucked at her burned thumb. ‘Ffffffruitloops, that’s hot.’
‘Wow, impressive. She not only skis like a pro, but she knows how to swear in the most inventive way I’ve ever heard. Tell me you can dance the samba and I think I might just want to marry you.’
The prickles on her neck bloomed into hot fire at the sound of a voice she would never forget. ‘You!’ she said, spinning around.
‘Me.’ His lips twitched.
Her gaze collided with those incredible eyes and her heart took a flying leap up her throat, cutting off her breath.
Breathe. Don’t act like a teenager with a crush. He’s just a man.
But what a man!
Luckily, her lungs responded to the demand for oxygen, because her brain was still missing in action.
‘Here. Let me help.’ Without asking, he took her arm and led her out of the kitchen to a bench, made her sit and then headed back to the kitchen, returning with her soup, toast, a spoon and a glass of water a moment later.
‘Thanks.’ Skye spun the spoon between her fingers as he sat on the bench seat opposite. It clanked against the side of the bowl, the sound kick-starting her brain enough for her to ask, ‘What are you doing here?’
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