Page 17 of Witch Bound and Down

"Six months," he agreed. "And we met here? At Sage's place?"

"Perfect. You were passing through on business, I was visiting my friend. Classic meet-cute scenario."

"What kind of business?"

Hazel grinned. "Furniture delivery. Very boring, very legitimate."

"Furniture delivery," Bullseye repeated with amusement. "I like it. What about you? What do you do when you're not running from weddings?"

"Freelance enchantment work. Protective wards, household charms, the occasional love potion for desperate romantics." It was close enough to the truth that she could sell it convincingly.

"Love potions?" His eyebrow rose. "That seems dangerous."

"Only if you use them wrong. Most people think love potions create love out of nothing, but really they just amplify what's already there." She found herself stepping closer to him, drawn by the warmth radiating from his large frame. "The real magic happens when two people already have a connection."

The air between them seemed to thicken, charged with the same electricity that had been building all night. Bullseye's eyes darkened as he looked down at her, and for a moment she thought he might kiss her right there in Sage's hallway.

Instead, he cleared his throat and stepped back slightly. "We should probably get out there before Sheriff Lawman decides to break down the door."

"Right. Of course." Hazel tried to ignore the pang of disappointment. "One more thing though. If we're supposed to be a couple, we should probably..." She gestured vaguely between them.

"Should probably what?"

"Be more... physical. Couples touch each other. Hold hands, stand close together, that sort of thing."

Bullseye's gaze dropped to her mouth for a split second before returning to her eyes. "You want me to touch you?"

The way he said it, low and rough, made heat pool in her belly. "For the disguise," she said quickly. "Just for the disguise."

"Right. The disguise."

But when he held out his hand, palm up, and she placed her fingers in his, it didn't feel like pretending. His hand was warm and calloused, large enough to engulf hers, and when his thumb brushed across her knuckles, she had to bite back a small sound of pleasure.

"This okay?" he asked softly.

"Perfect," she whispered, meaning it more than she should.

They walked out of the back area hand in hand, and Hazel was proud of how normal they looked. Just a regular couple out for a late-night snack, nothing suspicious about them at all.

"Oh hey, Hazel," Sage called out casually as they entered the main dining area. "Didn't expect to see you tonight. How's everything going?"

"Just fine," Hazel replied, grateful that Sage was playing it cool. "We were in the area and thought we'd stop for coffee."

"Great choice. Find yourselves a seat anywhere. Can I get you something? We've got fresh pie, coffee that'll wake the dead, and today's special is enchanted meatloaf with a side of probably-not-cursed vegetables."

"Pie sounds great," Hazel said, sliding into a booth by the window. The neon lights outside cast colorful patterns across the table. Bullseye settled beside her instead of across from her, which put his thigh against hers and filled her nostrils with his scent—leather and motor oil and something indefinably masculine that made her want to bury her face in his neck.

"Two pieces of pie coming right up," Sage said. "Apple okay?"

"Perfect," Bullseye replied.

As Sage headed toward the kitchen, Hazel allowed herself to relax slightly. The glamour necklace was working perfectly, dampening her magical signature to something completely unremarkable. The other customers—a few werewolves at a corner table, a centaur on what appeared to be a date with a wood nymph, and various other supernatural beings—paid them no attention at all.

That lasted exactly three minutes.

The front door chimed, and Sheriff Grizzley T. Lawman entered with purposeful strides. He was massive, intimidating, and currently scanning the parking lot through the windows with obvious irritation.

"Evening, folks," he announced to the truck stop at large, his voice carrying the authority of someone used to being obeyed. Three deputies followed him in, along with what appeared to be a federal agent in a suit that practically screamed "supernatural crimes division."

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