Big, Bad Red
The kiss turned Liam dumb. Stone-cold, the-world-could-blow-up-around-him-and-he-wouldn’t-care stupid. It was probably the magic. No one could taste so sweet and promise so many sinful things with one kiss without the aid of something a little extra. It was the only way to explain why her every curve fit so perfectly with his hard planes, why the need to hurry up while slowing down was knocking him sideways, and why, when he swept his tongue across her plump bottom lip, electricity shot straight down his spine. Red moaned, giving him the perfect opportunity to deepen the kiss, press her closer and pray his zipper would hold fast.
A hand clamped down on his shoulder with the force of a giant oak tree hitting the forest floor and yanked. The movement spun him away from Red and face-to-face with the gaping maw of a really pissed-off giant of a man. Liam was big. This dude was bigger. That didn’t happen often.
“Get off of her, asshole,” the big man yelled before turning to Red. “Are you okay, boss?”
Both men turned to face her. Her eyelids had the slight droop of a well-satisfied woman as she flicked her tongue across her kiss-swollen lips.
“A-okay.” Red’s voice had a fuzzy quality to it to match the excited pink highlighting her brown cheeks.
He’d put them there—that look and that dreamy, just-kissed huskiness in her voice—and he wanted to do it again. Now. Later. Forever. Or at least until she found out the truth—if she found out.
Bittersweet agony twisted his spleen and it took every bit of his control not to blurt out the truth. He had three days before the spell wore off. If he could make her fall in love with him before that happened, then everything would be okay. What difference did one lie of omission matter when it came to saving his family line and his own life? And if he couldn’t make her truly fall in love, then Red would leave and the MacTíres would end with Liam. Werewolves mated for life and the sword hadn’t just wrapped its magic around her. He was in it as deep as she was.
The big guy zeroed in on Liam and puffed up his chest. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Liam MacTíre.” The wolf inside him yanked against the leash holding it at bay. Jealousy as green as the Emerald Isle itself clouded his mind. “Who’s she to you?” If he said girlfriend it didn’t matter how much bigger he was, Liam was going to end him here and now.
“My boss.” No floundering and no hesitation, but the sappy look on the giant’s face said something else.
“Well, she’s my fiancée.” Liam wasn’t exactly peeing a circle around Red, but he wasn’t about to let someone go after his woman.
“Did you get down on one knee and I missed it?” Red asked, the vinegar in her tone minimized by the lusty hunger darkening her eyes.
“I thought it was understood.” His heart rammed against his ribs, powered by chaos’s twins: panic and fear. But he fought to keep his voice low and calm. “I told you about the spell. It’s the only outcome.”
Her lips, so red they reminded him of fresh strawberries still warm from the sun, curled upward, but the snap-crackle-pop dancing around in the air surrounding her left no doubt that the words she was about to deliver wouldn’t be nearly as sweet.
“That’s where you’re wrong.” She strutted over to him, her full hips decimating the modesty of that little gingham skirt. She traced one bright red fingernail across his chest, right over the spot where his heart beat an insane rhythm. “I’m breaking this spell.”
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