Jodi Redford - Maximum Witch

“Yeah. He will.”

His hand squeezed her waist lightly, instigating those pleasurable tingles again. Nice to see her body had its priorities straight. Lust should always outweigh the possibility of death. Jeez . She licked her lips, trying not to think about how nice he smelled. And how incredibly blue his eyes were. And those muscles. Don’t even get me started on them. “I—I don’t even know your name.” Somehow she doubted it really was Mr. Hunky Buns, no matter how fitting it would be.

“Maxwell Truitt. But my friends call me Max.”

Max. It suited him, for some reason. She held out her hand. “Willa Jameson. I’m sorry I didn’t properly thank you earlier for rescuing me. Or apologize for, uh, punching you.”

“Don’t sweat it.” His gaze searing into hers, his big palm closed around her much smaller one. The warmth his skin generated was nothing compared to the lush heat spiraling through her. There was something so focused and intent about the way he looked at her. She couldn’t help wondering what it’d feel like to have all that intensity zeroed in on her as his hands and mouth traveled every square inch of her.

Where the hell did that thought come from? Snapping out of her daze, she carefully extracted herself from his grip and hugged her arms to her chest in an effort to hide her body’s reaction to him.

“You’re cold.” A V furrowing between his eyebrows, Max pivoted and yanked open one of the dresser drawers. He grabbed a white T-shirt and passed it to her before returning to the bathroom. She quickly pulled on the garment. It was a thousand sizes too big, hanging nearly to her knees, but at least she didn’t have to worry anymore about her nipples proclaiming their happy hello for the entire world to see.

Something soft brushed her shoulders, and she jumped before realizing it was Max wrapping the blanket around her. For such a big guy, he was amazingly stealthy. She hadn’t even heard him walk behind her. The doorbell chimed and she jerked again. For crying out loud, skittish as she was acting, it’d be a miracle if she didn’t have a nervous breakdown within the next five seconds.

Of course, strange as her life had been the past week, a trip to the local loony bin wouldn’t be out of the question.

“That should be Boone. Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Clutching the blanket as if it would cloak her in a much-needed pretense of sanity, she watched him stride off. Shortly afterward, she detected the murmured hush of Max’s voice, along with another deep baritone that she presumed belonged to his friend Boone. Several minutes later, both men appeared in the doorway. She tried not to gawk due to the amount of hunky testosterone that flooded the air. Truly. But it was damn hard.

Although Boone stood an inch or two shorter than Max, it was still obvious he packed the same amount of muscle beneath his grey Henley. He stepped farther into the room, and the lamplight gilded his sandy-blond hair with gold brushstrokes, adding to his surfer god good looks. Extending a hand, he introduced himself with an easy smile. Once the niceties were done with, he placed his black leather medic bag on the foot of the bed. “Max tells me you’ve had an eventful evening.”

“So it seems.” She slid a glance in Max’s direction and took in the tension bracketing his mouth. “I wish I could remember what happened.”

“More than likely, it’s a side effect from the shock you went through earlier.” Boone’s expression remained reassuring. “Give it time. I’m sure you’ll get your memory back soon enough.”

She wanted to believe him. But the odd episodes she’d been experiencing lately made it near impossible to believe anything could be that easy.

“In the meantime, how about I give you a quick examination to make sure there’s nothing more serious to contend with than your memory loss?” Boone’s focus skipped down the blanket. Taking the hint, she dropped the covering to the ground and returned her gaze to Max, mutely conveying her gratefulness for the shirt he’d loaned her.

Boone gestured for her to take a seat next to his bag. While she did as suggested, he rifled through his things and pulled out a small penlight and a stethoscope. She was relieved to note he left the thermometer alone. Given the fact he was a vet, she was more than a little worried where the device might have last been. He tipped her chin and flashed the light into her eyes. She blinked, something that seemed to satisfy him because he hummed his approval. Next, he slid the stethoscope beneath the shirt and pressed the cold chest piece over her heart.

“Other than beating a little faster than should be typical, everything seems to be fine in this department.” He gave her a wink. “Most likely, the culprit is a little adrenaline overload. Nothing to be overly worried about.”

Or maybe it has something to do with the fact your hand is practically cupping my boob, and it’s been forever since I’ve seen even that much action. Silently moaning at the inner slut who’d apparently taken over her body, she offered a weak smile.

Boone removed the stethoscope and returned it to the bag. Max crowded closer, his frown deepening. “Aren’t you going to check the bite on her…” a quick look slid in her direction, “…backside?”

“Yeah, if you’ll give me a chance.” Boone’s expression turned wry. “And some space.”

Max dutifully inched sideways a few paces, and Boone gave her an encouraging squeeze on the arm. “How about you lay on your stomach?”

After granting both men a hesitant stare, she complied with the request and hiked the shirt around her waist, trying not to feel weird and self-conscious about giving them a bird’s-eye view of her butt. Sure, not like she didn’t have bikini bottoms on, but she also didn’t make a regular habit of flashing even that much at strangers. A soft whistle came from one of the guys. Embarrassment burned her cheeks, but then she realized the noise had been prompted by the marks on her skin, not the sight of her ass.

“You weren’t kidding. That’s one hell of a nasty bite.”

Max uttered a low curse. “Damn. So it is a bite? I was hoping I was wrong. It doesn’t completely match up with the marks on my legs.”

“Wait, you got bit too? Why the hell didn’t you mention that sooner?” Boone’s voice held a healthy dose of admonishment.

“It’s no big deal. Willa is the one I’m worried about.”

“Don’t be a stubborn jackass. Let me see these bites.”

Willa turned her head just as Max hiked up the legs of his sweats and revealed some nasty-looking gouges in his flesh. Holy crap. It looked like something had tried to shred him alive.

Boone swore beneath his breath. “Yeah, it’s safe to say you were both attacked by the same son of a bitch. The bites might not completely line up, but the placement of the puncture marks on both of you are in keeping with the guesstimated teeth alignment on a leviathan. How big did you say the thing was?”

Leviathan? The rest of Boone and Max’s conversation faded to an indistinct blur as Willa’s head spun with the news she’d just overheard. A dull whoosh thrummed through her eardrums, keeping pace with her accelerated pulse. Her thoughts immediately tracked to the last encounter she’d had with one of the beasts, when she’d helped save her friend Clarissa from its evil imprisonment. They’d killed that monster. Or at least sent it back to the dark hellhole that’d spawned it. Regardless, that chapter of her life had been permanently closed.

Or so she’d thought. The fact that she’d apparently become the prized snack choice of leviathans certainly threw a wrench in her assumption.