Spellbound In Seattle by Garthia Anderson

Author:Garthia Anderson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romance, paranormal romance, magic, wizard, humor and romance, contemporary paranormal romance, magic paranormal, paranormal fantasy novel, light urban fantasy romance
Publisher: Garthia Anderson

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“Petra, let go of my arm and I’ll get up.”

Somehow she managed to pry her fingers loose. “Sorry.”

Vorador slowly got out of the bed, as if each movement hurt him. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I thought I could handle it--being that close to you. Obviously I over-estimated my control. Or under-estimated your appeal.”

She didn’t know what to say to that without sounding terribly conceited. Watching his shadowy movements as he pulled his jeans back on, she did know she didn’t want him to leave on this note. She didn’t want this awkwardness to swamp their fledgling friendship. Not when she hoped it might grow into something larger.

“Maybe we could try this again. With the lights on.” Realizing how that sounded, she added, “Maybe in the other room.” Gads, that wasn’t any better, considering what happened in there earlier. “You know, just talk.”

He didn’t reply, but flipped on the lights. She assumed that meant he agreed. She plumped up a pillow and scooted back to sit against the headboard while he made a slow careful examination of her bedroom. Oh, crud. She’d forgotten his seeming obsession with pigs.

“Nice pigs.”

How could he make two such innocuous words sound lecherous? “What is it with you guys and pigs?”

He flashed a roguish grin. She knew exactly how a pirate’s captive must feel--like she was ready to be locked up in his quarters ravished at his leisure.

“How come you like them so much?” he asked, bending over to examine a large bronze pig on the floor.

She really liked his long hair. It was black as sin, absolutely straight and hung loose past his shoulders. Speaking of shoulders... His were very nice. Well muscled but not too much.

He straightened and picked up a stuffed pig from a chair. “Pigs,” he prompted.

She watched mesmerized while his long fingers stroked the soft pink fur. She already knew how talented those fingers were. Her eyes glazed over when he idly rubbed the pig up and down his bare chest. He had just enough hair on his chest. A narrow trail of it pointed down towards the waistband of his jeans.

“Never mind.” Coming to the bed, he traced a pattern on her upper chest with a finger. “Tell me about this instead.”

She swatted his hand away. “What do you mean?”

“Tell me about the bastard who broke your heart.”

Drawing in a sharp breath, she flinched backwards. “What?”

He prodded the area over her heart. “I can see him here.” He drew the pattern again.

This time she recognized it as a heart. “Don’t.”

His finger moved, sketching that stupid heart again. It was as if she could feel his touch inside her, pulling and prodding at the remnants of her past relationship with Harold. It didn’t exactly hurt. The sensation felt more like a cross between a tickle and an itch.

“How can you do that? What are you doing?”

He shrugged and sat on the edge of the bed. “Tell me about Mr. Mud.”

He was obviously referring to Harold’s psychic color. It

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