Page 20 of Wooing the Wiccan
“She likes you,” Jared says, following the direction of my gaze. “That’s a big compliment, because she’s picky.” He takes the container from me and sets it on a sideboard, then goes to wash his hands at the sink.
“How long have you lived together?” I ask, following him to take a turn at the sink. I’m hoping he’ll let me help with dinner.
He laughs. “I love that you phrased it that way, instead of asking when I got her. Margie chose me six years ago. I was working in the front garden, and this tiny kitten comes marching up the front path, straight to the door, and stands there mewing at it like she’s demanding for it to open. I knew my neighbor’s cat, across the street, had been pregnant, so I figured that’s where she came from and took her back.”
“And then changed your mind and decided to keep her?” I guess, leaning against the counter as he pulls a covered pot out of the fridge and sets it on the stove.
“Not likely.” He snorts. “It wasn’t that I was against having a pet, but I didn’t have a lot of time back then to devote to one—still don’t, really—and if I did, I would have adopted an older animal from a shelter. One who was less likely to find a home and already house-trained. A kitten wasn’t on my radar.”
I grin. That’s exactly how many elves feel about their dragon friends. We love them dearly, but we’re all a bit bewildered about how we happened to end up with someone so high-maintenance and… catastrophic in our friendship circle. “Yet here she is. Clearly you’re not the one in charge in this house.”
Shaking his head, he gets a wooden spoon from a drawer and gives whatever is warming up in that pot a stir. “I definitely am not. The next day, I found her waiting for me on the doorstep when I got home from work. I took her back again, but two days later, she was waiting when I opened the door—and that timeshe managed to get past me. I found her curled up on the couch, staking her claim on my house.”
“Is that when you gave in?”
“Nope. By the way, I hope vegetable soup is okay for dinner? I have garlic rolls to go with it.”
On cue, my stomach rumbles. “Sounds great to me. Can I help set the table?”
“Sure—I’ll get things out for you. Anyway,” he continues, turning to a cabinet and taking out two glasses, “after the fifth—or maybe sixth—time I took her home, my neighbor suggested it might be time I clued in that I’d been adopted. I was arguing about it when two of the other kittens from the litter ganged up on Margie. In retrospect, they were only playing, but I reacted like an overprotective parent watching their kid get beat up, and that was when I realized she and I were meant to be.”
I finish laying the spoons on the table with the napkins and glasses and take the jug of water he hands me. “That’s the sweetest story I’ve heard in a long while. How did you choose her name? That’s such an important part of the pet process.”
A shadow crosses his face, and I immediately wish I could snatch the question back. “She’s named after my grandmother, who died when I was a kid,” he says quietly. “She… well, to be honest, I don’t know for sure how she would have reacted when I came out, but from what I remember of her, she had the best shot of still wanting me around. Maybe she wouldn’t, but I’ll never know, and I like to pretend she would have accepted me… and everything.”
If it wouldn’t be a horrific misuse of power, I’d ask Caolan to track down Jared’s family and make sure they were suffering in some way for the harm they’ve done to him. But that won’t take his pain away, and, knowing that he lives by the edict “do no harm,” it’s unlikely that he’d appreciate it.
Instead, I cross to stand directly in front of him and lift my hands to cup his cheeks. There’s just a hint of beard grain under my palms, reminding me how very, very long it’s been since I was last with a man. Jared’s eyes search my face, his breath picking up speed just a fraction.
“I bet she would have accepted you,” I promise. Whether she would have or not, if the dream he created makes him happy, I’ll feed it with every ounce of my own belief. “She loved you so much, and she would have supported all your choices. Because you’re incredible, and I know she recognized that the way I do.”
The last word barely has time to leave my lips before his are crashing against them. He clings to my shoulders, then wraps his arms around me and hauls us against each other, pressed together from mouth to thigh, as close as we can be with our clothes between us. My lips part under the pressure of his, and the taste of him explodes through me, making me feel, for the first time in so very long, that I’m home.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Jared
KissingRaðulfr is like eating gourmet ice cream at the beach with your friends on a scorching hot day. It’s like being wrapped in a blanket in front of the fire with your cat and a great book. It’s like being on a roller coaster, screaming and laughing and never wanting the ride to end; like the first time I used magic and understood the real beauty of the world.
It feels like the best decision I’ve ever made.
We stand there beside the counter in my kitchen and kiss until I’m dizzy, until my lips start to feel tender and it seems like I’ll never get enough of how he feels against me. Until Margie yowls and a sizzling sound tells me the soup’s boiled over.
Shit.
We break apart, and I hurry to turn off the burner before it makes too much mess. Behind me, Raðulfr is telling Marge she’s an excellent alarm cat, and my mouth curves into a smile. He’s interesting and good-looking, open to my religion, gets along with my cat, and kisses like a dream. I’ve hit the motherfucking jackpot. Pressing my palms to suddenly hot cheeks—right where his were before—I ask myself what I’m waiting for. So what if we’ve known each other less than two weeks? I’ve hooked upwith guys I’ve known less than two minutes—and I knew a hell of a lot less about them than I do Raðulfr.
Taking a breath to center myself, I drop my hands and turn around. Raðulfr is petting Marge, a goofy little smile on his face that I know isn’t there because my cat’s adorable. That smile’s all for me—and likely matches the one I’m wearing.
“So, uh… how hungry would you say you are?”
He turns his head toward me. “Starving.”
Oh. My face must fall, because he adds, “Oh, you meant for soup. That can wait for later.” His smile turns wicked, sending a delicious shiver up my spine. “I’m ravenous for something else right now.”
“Me too,” I say through a suddenly dry throat. I don’t know why I’m nervous. It’s just sex. Just because my inner romantic thinks Raðulfr might bethe onedoesn’t mean I should be nervous.
I turn back to the stove and put the lid on the soup pot, then cross the kitchen and take Raðulfr’s hand. “Come on. I know what will satisfy both our appetites.”
