Devon Monk: Magic In the Blood

Nice. Very nice.

I tried to put my left arm around him too, but the vase of flowers in my hand tipped and peed water on my floor.

Did I know how to do romance or what?

I righted the vase so I could turn my real attention on Zayvion.

My tongue slipped along his bottom lip, and he opened his mouth for me. Electric heat shot down my body and pooled deliciously in my belly as his tongue slid along mine, sparking desire, making my body want to stretch for him.

Oh, loves, I wanted him.

The kiss deepened as each of us explored, touched, and remembered, if even for a brief moment, what this meant, what we meant, together.

Then I pulled away. “We were going to wait for it to be real instead of just trauma sex. Isn’t that what you said?” I was hoping he would say no, that was not at all what he had said.

And even though his eyes were burning bright, and even though the heat of passion from the kiss still lingered on my lips and in my veins, Zayvion Jones said, “It’s never been just trauma sex. But yes. We’re going to wait until we both know for sure what it really is all about. And I want to make good on my promise to take you on a date. First.”

Promises, promises. “Then I guess you’ll have to leave,” I said.

“Yes, I guess I will.”

We stood there, our shoes wet from the rose piddle. Finally Zayvion pushed away from the counter and walked past me toward the door.

Damn. That man must have put on his stainless steel willpower panties this morning.

He opened the door. “See you at seven,” he said.

I leaned one shoulder in the kitchen doorway. “Don’t be late.”

Zayvion smiled. “Not a chance.”

He shut the door behind him, and I strolled over and threw the locks.

Maybe things were looking up after all.

I hadn’t been on a date for years. How did one do this? Shower first, and then I’d see if I owned any clothing that wasn’t made of denim or wool. I walked into the bathroom and flipped on the light, trying to remember if I still had that little red dress I’d bought a couple years ago. I bet that dress could burn right through Mr. Jones’ willpower.

I was still carrying the vase of roses. It was out of water, so I tipped it under the spigot and turned on the water.

Allie… A thought, a whisper, an exhale. Chills ran down my skin. I knew that voice. Only I hadn’t heard it with my ears. I’d heard it in my head. Panic pounded my chest.

I looked up into the mirror. And saw my father’s gaze looking back at me through my eyes.

I am so grateful for all the help I received while writing this book.

Thank you to my wonderful agent, Miriam Kriss, for your unflagging excitement and support. My deepest gratitude also to my editor, Anne Sowards, who took the time to call and talk with me about the book. Though you may not know it, in that one hour you showed me a new way to approach writing not only this novel, but many novels yet to come. A big thank-you also to assistant editor Cameron Dufty, designer Ray Lundgren, and artist Larry Rostant. You made this book shine.

I am lucky to have the best, most supportive, and most persistent first readers in the world. Thank you, Dean Woods, for always asking when I’ll have something for you to read and following up with such insightful questions. You are brilliant. Thank you, Dejsha Knight, for being there for me from the very first story. I wouldn’t be here without you. Thank you, Dianna Rodgers, for your friendship, and for giving such honest feedback, even on short deadlines. Thank you, Sharon Thompson, for all your encouragement, support, and advice. And thank you to Deanne Hicks for everything. I love you, girl.

I’d also like to thank the fabulous readers who read Magic to the Bone and liked it enough to try this sequel. I hope it doesn’t disappoint.

Lastly, all my love to my husband, Russ, and sons, Kameron and Konner, for all you are and all you do. Thank you for being the very best part of my life.