Moira Rogers: That Old Black Magic

Her words dissolved into a shriek as he closed his teeth on the spot where her shoulder curved into her neck. His growl of approval rumbled through his chest, vibrated against her back, and he continued his hard, deep thrusts with a stamina and determination that was outright impressive.

Polly came. Pleasure surged through her with alarming strength, the kind that made her head ache and her knees collapse. She squeezed her eyes shut and chanted his name, her body shaking in the circle of his arm, her nails scratching into his skin.

He hissed again when her nails broke the skin on his arm, and he thrust against her one last time as a ragged moan spilled from his lips, muffled against her neck. His hips rocked against her ass in a desperate grind that finally stilled as he dropped his head to her shoulder and exhaled roughly. “Holy fuck.”

She opened her eyes and tried to focus on a water stain in the corner of the ceiling. Her breath came in short, labored pants, and sweat trickled between her breasts. “Can you hear him?” She needed to get out of the closet. She needed to get away.

“Shh.” He eased away, and she heard quiet rustling and the soft click of his belt buckle. A zipper rasped up, and then gentle hands eased her panties and cargo pants back up over her hips. “He’s gone,” he whispered. His hands coasted up her sides and to her arms, warm, callused fingers rubbing along the skin left bare by her tank top.

A soft metallic clink was her only warning. Cool metal encircled one wrist and the handcuffs rattled as he slapped the other end around the pipe behind the sink.

Shock crashed over her, erasing the last vestiges of lazy satisfaction curling through her limbs. “What the hell are you doing?”

Polly twisted around in time to see him tuck her gun into the back of his waistband. He grinned and held up the charm she’d stashed in her pocket before he’d crowded her into the closet, the charm she’d forgotten was there. “Sorry, sweetheart, but I can’t let you sell this to anyone.”

Max smiled at her as he tucked the charm into his pocket and pulled out a set of lock picks. “But, so you know there’s no hard feelings...” He tossed them down, just out of reach, and stepped back to break the perimeter she’d laid down. A quick twist of his wrist opened the closet door, and he winked. “Hope to see you again soon, Polly Cassidy.”

With that he was gone.

“Fucked and fucked.” She cursed, scuffed the floor and cursed again. It’s your own goddamned fault, Polly. You should have kept your pants on.

But no. Instead, she’d had sex with a stranger. The hell of it was, if they’d had more time—or room to maneuver—she’d have been begging him to do all kinds of naughty, orgasm-inducing things to her.

Give it up. You still would.

She growled and tugged her hand out of the cuff, wincing when the sharp steel edges scraped her flesh. Fucking men and their fucking bedroom eyes and manly sweat and talented hands...

Polly dragged her fingers through her hair and fixed her clothing. The lock picks lay on the floor, a Siren call of comeuppance. Of revenge.

She bent and picked them up. The case was well-used, creased and worn thin around the corners. “You’re hot as hell, Max,” she whispered, tapping the soft plastic case against her palm. “But you underestimate me.”

She tucked the case into her pocket, then turned to the sink and washed her face and hands. Chasing him was useless; he’d be long gone already. Her best bet was to have Gertie track him down using the energy signature from the lock picks.

Then she could kill him.

Max breezed through the front door of Lena’s shop, feeling sunnily pleased with the world and everyone in it. By now pretty little Polly Cassidy should have found someone to do a locater spell using his lock picks, which meant he had a few hours to prepare himself for a gorgeous, angry thief busting down his door.

If there was anything hotter than a furious, talented woman who wasn’t sure if she wanted to fuck him or kill him, he’d yet to come across it. And the sex is going to be good ...

Lena greeted his cheerful appearance with one delicately arched eyebrow. “You can’t have possibly gone to Louisiana, broken into a wizard’s house, stolen the charm and gotten back to Texas in forty-eight hours. Even you aren’t that good, Max.”

He grinned and tossed her the plastic bag he’d shoved the charm into. “I’m the best, sweetheart. Next time Blake Kendrick comes around, you tell him so.”

She upended the bag and spilled the charm out into her hand. The other eyebrow rose, and she glanced up at him. “This is the wrong charm.”

“Bullshit.” It had to be the right charm. He’d fucked a notorious thief in a closet while his target puttered around the living room, which was as clear a sign of the absolute annihilation of inhibitions as he’d ever seen. Not that he wouldn’t take fierce pleasure in getting his hands on Polly again, but not during a job. Work was work, and play was something else. He never mixed them.

Or he never had .

Lena laughed at his expression and dangled the tiny, elaborate disk from its chain. “I know my own work, and this isn’t it. It’s not even the same type.”

Max ground his teeth together. “Yes, it is. It has to be.”

“Why?”

He swore. “Because it sure the hell did a number on my inhibitions.”

She just shook her head and laughed again as she dropped the charm to the table. “Max, the only thing that charm will do is let you walk through magical wards. It didn’t touch your inhibitions.”

“Oh yeah?” He fixed his meanest glare on her. “Then why the hell did I have frantic sex in a closet with the thief who was trying to steal it?”

“Because you’re a horny bastard?” Lena smiled at him, completely unfazed by his mean-alpha-shapeshifter routine. “Your dick and what you do with it is really not my business. You can keep the charm if you want, though. It would probably be useful in your line of work.”

He swore again and spun on his heel before stalking for the door. “Save it. I’m going to go find that damn thing. Now.”

He pretended he didn’t hear her laughter as he stormed out of her shop and across the road. His Jeep sat across the street, and he swung into it and curled his fingers around the steering wheel.

She’d played him. It was the only explanation. Polly Cassidy had played him from the start, and made a fool out of him in the process. She probably had the damn charm now, and was laughing her ass off somewhere as she waited for some jackass to hand over a huge bag of money for it. She wouldn’t care about the massive chaos the thing could cause in the wrong hands, and he’d be chasing it all over the country again, trying to find it before someone did something terrible with it.

And he’d given her his damn lock picks. She could find him now, whenever she wanted. The thought had been amusing when she’d been a hot piece of ass who was almost as good as him. Now that she’d proved herself smarter than him... I am royally fucked.

Or not. When he tracked her sweet little ass down again, sex would be the last thing on his mind. Well, it would be the first thing on his mind, but he’d ignore it. No woman was worth destroying everything he’d worked for. Not even smoking hot Polly Cassidy.

Fuck.

Polly gritted her teeth and stomped toward the door. “I said just a minute, damn it!” She pulled open the door and snorted. “Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”