Enchanted to Meet You by Meg Cabot

Author:Meg Cabot
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2023-09-05T00:00:00+00:00

Jessica

A woman who under a waxing moon first chooses to bed

Will soon be happy, healthy, wealthy, and wed.

Goody Fletcher, Book of Useful Household Tips

Was I surprised when Derrick Winters started kissing me?

No.

Was I happy about it?

Yes.

It’s what I’d been willing him to do all evening. I couldn’t understand why he wasn’t reading my signals. How much more obvious did I have to be?

But once he finally got the message, he got it good.

For once I was glad that all of my neighbors went to bed right after Jeopardy! They’d be shocked enough if they found out I was entertaining a strange male witch in the house.

They’d have been even more shocked if they’d happened to look through my living room windows and seen what he was doing to me.

And what he was doing to me was filthy . . . which was exactly what I wanted. No sooner had he pulled my body to his and brought his lips down over mine then he was dragging those same lips along the side of my neck, shoving away the silk of my kimono in order to expose the tender skin just above my breasts and then greedily kissing that, too, causing all the nerve endings in my body to detonate. My nipples became hard as rocks, and he knew it. I knew he knew it because I felt a sudden corresponding hardness under the fly of his jeans.

Oh, yes.

If any of my neighbors had happened to be out past their bedtimes walking their dog and glanced through my window at that point, they’d have seen Derrick tugging at the buttons on the front of my pajama top in order to get at those nipples. Eager as I was to have his hands and lips all over me, I had to object.

“Dude, I just bought this,” I said. “Don’t rip it.”

“Sorry,” he muttered, but he wasn’t that sorry. I know because he couldn’t even wait for me to take it off. He was already reaching up beneath my shirt before I’d gotten a single button undone.

Boom! That’s what the eruption felt like in my head—and between my legs—when his hand found my breast. If I’d thought his callused fingers on the bare skin of my knee that afternoon had felt amazing, that was nothing compared to the sensations that coursed through me when his callused palm closed over my nipple.

My knees buckled. I couldn’t hold myself up. This was a first for me: I’ve never been brought to my knees by the touch of a man.

But I didn’t mind, and he didn’t seem to, either. Always the protector, he had an arm wrapped around my waist, which kept me from falling to the floor. Instead, he sank gently with me. Thank God we were now below windowpane level.

And thank God for the blue hand-knotted rug I’d bought so many years ago and laid in front of the fireplace. I hadn’t realized how soft the wool was—soft enough for my purposes, anyway. And

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