Page 105 of Strike It Witch

“Whatever.” Novik grabbed the mugs in one hand and slid off the stool.

A young woman gave him an appreciative glance as he strolled past. I caught her eye and shook my head. She shrugged and went back to her drink.

It was the curse of Novik to have the looks of a magazine model and the personality of a salted slug.

“Thank you. He held it together today, but he’s never going to be trustworthy around humans.” Durg finished his drink, and I poured him another. “I do try, though.”

“You are a saint, Durg the Bright.”

“After today, they should build a statue of me and plant it in front of a human church.”

I was still laughing when the door burst open, and my favorite witch strode inside wearing that Valentine-red flower in her hair. A camellia, I’d discovered via an online search.

She wore a black lace minidress that ended high on her legs, revealing the lacy tops of sheer, thigh-high black stockings with every swish of her hips. There were bows on the stockings that matched the bows on the back of her black stilettos. Her dark brown hair frothed around her shoulders and down the open back of her dress, which I didn’t notice until she turned to whisper a question in Durg’s ear.

“Of course,” he replied, and effortlessly hoisted her onto the bar. Ogres were strong as hell, but so were shifters, so why had she—and what the hell was she doing standing on my bar in that short dress?

“Betty?” I rasped.

She glanced at a delicate silver watch at her wrist. “One minute.”

“What’s going on?” I asked then caught a glance up the skirt. Black lace snugged her smooth upper thighs, skipped a generous flash of naked thigh then started again.

My voice left the building.

“Thirty seconds,” she said.

I am an alpha wolf shifter. By the goddess, I do not lose my voice in highly charged situations.

Highly charged, right.We both know what’s highly charged right now,my wolf drawled.

He didn’t speak up often, but when he did, it was nearly always to be a dick.

Speaking of…

I surreptitiously adjusted the front of my jeans.

A female voice hollered, “Looking good, Ms. Betty,” and she gave them a smile and a swish of her dress, which showed the lace tops of her stockings again.

“What are you doing up there?” I asked, throwing some power into my voice to get her to answer. It was a cheap alpha move, but I wasn’t above it at the moment. I didn’t like the way people were staring at her. There was far too much lasciviousness going on here.

“Shh. Not yet, Ronan,” she replied without looking at me. “Almost.”

Talk in the bar had ceased. Even the juke had stopped. Although that was because Durg had unplugged it. At Betty’s request?

I gazed up at her, bewildered. “What are you doing?”

She pursed full, crimson lips and winked down at me. Then she addressed the bar. “If I could have your attention, please?”

Oh, she had it. No need to ask.

“I just want you all to know that Ronan Pallás is thesexiestman in La Paloma, California.”

Someone whistled. A few people clapped. Nearly everyone laughed.

Betty glanced over her shoulder and winked down at me. “I never renege on a bet.”

This time, instead of asking Durg, she held her hands out to me to help her off the bar, which I did, taking care not to ruck upher dress no matter how much I wanted to see all that black lace again.

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