Moira Rogers: That Old Black Magic

In, smash, grab, out. Max wiped sweat from his forehead and crouched in front of the door, ignoring the way the rickety porch creaked under his weight. He studied the lock in front of him with professional curiosity, then grinned. Easiest job ever.

Max didn’t usually jinx himself so early in the game, but this wasn’t his usual gig. Tracking down black magic users and demon worshipers gave him one hell of a rush—not to mention a decent paycheck—but it did make basic recovery jobs like this boring in comparison.

He could have twisted the doorknob hard enough to pop the lock—maybe even without his shapeshifter strength—but he pulled out a slim set of lock picks instead. Might as well get some practice.

Of course, the lock didn’t offer that much of a challenge, since it was so outdated he probably could have picked it with his belt buckle. In the dark. He felt a tiny jolt of magic when he touched it the first time, and the amulet around his neck warmed slightly. Whatever magical protections the neurotic and paranoid owner of this house had put in place where easily overcome by the magical firepower his client had provided him with.

The lock clicked within five seconds, and Max almost sighed. So much for excitement. He found himself half hoping the wizard would come back while he was pawing through his belongings, just to liven things up a bit.

“Don’t be an idiot,” he muttered as he rose to his feet again. He slipped the lock picks into his back pocket and reached for the door. “In, smash, grab—”

The door swung open and he found himself facing the barrel of a handgun. The gun was connected to a pair of pale, delicate hands, which his gaze followed to a pair of dainty wrists, sleekly muscled arms, and a body—

Oh hell, what a body.

“Smash and grab,” the woman echoed as one eyebrow curved up in a perfect arch. “That sounds original. Don’t suppose it’s the television you’re after?”

Max blinked. Stupidly. He jerked his gaze back up past her gorgeous hips—and breasts—and studied her face again. Full lips, hazel eyes staring at him with complete disdain from beneath the fall of dark brown hair. He could hear her heartbeat, cool and steady, just like the hand holding that damn gun.

The minute he dragged his brain out of his pants, he knew exactly who he was dealing with. “Little Polly Cassidy. Your legend paints you as taller.” And says absolutely nothing about how fucking hot you are.

She laughed, the sound entirely too refined for someone wearing low-riding cargo pants and a black tank top. “ Legend ? You do know how to flatter a girl.” Her hips rocked gently as she took a single step away from him. “Hands. Up.”

A bullet probably wouldn’t kill him unless she put it between his eyes, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to chance it. Not this far into the Louisiana bayou. Max rolled his eyes and lifted his hands carefully above his head. “Don’t be too flattered, sweetheart. I only know who you are because I have a habit of killing your evil son-of-a-bitch clients.”

“That’s bad for repeat business,” she observed blandly. “What’d they ever do to you? No, let me guess.” She smiled, the slow, sultry expression sending another stab of heat through him. “An impotence hex.”

If only. Between the danger and the heat caused by the wicked curl of her lips, he was already rock hard and distracted as hell. “Not a big fan of people who use magic for evil, darling. You make big bucks helping them, I make big bucks putting them down. How do you sleep at night?”

There was nothing refined about her husky laugh this time. “Like a baby, darling .” She tilted her head and licked her bottom lip as her gaze raked over him. “Get lost, and I won’t kill you.”

Hot or not, there were limits. “I don’t think...” A distant rumble caught his attention, and he narrowed his eyes as he tried to catch the sound again. A moment later he heard it; the wizard’s car. “Shit. Owner’s back early.”

She spun and took off down the hall, shoving the pistol into the back of her waistband as she moved. “Great chatting with you. Good luck.”

A quick glance around the front room made it plenty clear the magical goodies were stashed somewhere else. Max kicked the front door shut and took off after her.

Polly cast him an irritated look over her shoulder. “You’re not invited to come with me, you know.” She hit the end of the hallway and shoved open a door to reveal a utility closet. “Besides, only room for one. Sorry.”

Magic radiated from the closet, strong enough that charm he was after could very well be in there. Which meant she wasn’t staying in there by herself.

Nice excuse, he thought wryly as he ignored her protests and crowded her through the door.

Her stammers ceased when her back hit the edge of an ancient soapstone laundry sink. Instead, she glared up at him. “You don’t listen to a damn word anybody ever says, do you, smart guy?” Even as she spoke, she reached down and tore open the Velcro fastening on one of the many pockets on her pants.

Max grabbed her hand before she could reach into the pocket. “Uh-uh, honey. No surprises.”

She scoffed a little and arched an eyebrow. “If you don’t let me get the perimeter down and activated before he gets inside, we’re both busted.”

“Perimeter?” He tugged the closet door shut with his free hand, but didn’t release her. “Explain.”

“If you’ve been single-handedly culling my client base, you’re not human. The wizard will sense you, and then he’ll find you. When he does, I’m fucked.” Polly moved slowly, his fingers still wrapped around her wrist, and pulled a silver flask out of her pocket. “But not if I secure the closet.” At his dubious look, she rolled her eyes again. “I’m not going to hurt myself just to hurt you. Let go.”

It was a rookie mistake, forgetting a wizard would be able to sense his power the second he crossed the threshold. Max ground his teeth and jerked his hand from her wrist. “Fine, set the damn perimeter.”

She unscrewed the cap from the flask and squeezed past him. “Try to get as close to the back wall as you can. He has some spell components stored in those boxes by the door. I don’t want to risk him missing them and coming to investigate.” As she spoke, she bent and began splashing a line of clear liquid on the floor.

The damn charm he was after had to be in the closet with them, because the sight of her bent over in front of him shorted out his brain. He forced himself back a step to keep from grabbing her hips, his client’s words floating through his head. It lowers inhibitions. All inhibitions. Anyone within twenty feet will give in to their basest desires.

His mouth felt dry as his gaze traced the full swell of her hips and the curve of her ass. His basest desires were simple enough: take, possess, pleasure. And he was trapped with her. In a closet. In the sweaty Louisiana bayou.

Most fucked up job ever.

Polly gritted her teeth and tried to pretend she couldn’t feel the weight of Mr. Tall, Dark, and Snarly’s stare on her ass. Take a picture, jackass. Even as the indignant thought formed in her head, her nipples tightened under the thin black cotton of her shirt. He’d wandered into her job and screwed up her plans. Why did he also have to be hot as hell?

She wasn’t a short woman, but he still towered over her, and his dark eyes followed every move she made as she marked off the back half of the closet. She’d have to go back to Atlanta for more of the formula soon, but she didn’t mind. It had been a while since she and Gertie had hung out.