And there she sat, trapped like a mouse inside of her own house, her natural abilities pulled from her, accused of something she had to get someone to explain, and under house arrest. Apparently, she was waiting for a trial. Right. She was certain that her trial wouldn’t be exactly fair. She was being treated like she was one hundred percent the murderer already. The goons had made that pretty clear from the way they’d moved her around like an animal, locking her in and telling her that if she left or tried to access her powers, she’d be gunned down without hesitation.
Great.
For probably a good two hours, she was furious and dealing with an absolute emotional whirlwind, when abruptly his name came flying into her head like a cannonball: Oakley. She was supposed to call him and cash in a favor if she ever really needed it. She was planning on saving it just like every other member of her family had since Donny, but if there was ever a time, it was now.
He obviously hadn’t believed her. That was fine. He didn’t really need to. If she’d been called by some frantic person with a crazy story, she wouldn’t have believed it either. But all he had to do, all he really had to do, was show up and show some support. He carried enough of a reputation to make her not as easy a target to bring down, or at least that was the theory. And you know what? This wasn’t the time to be looking a gift horse in the mouth. He said he was going to come, and that was it. That was all she really needed, and from there, he’d see that she was innocent.
Hopefully.
Time passed somehow instantly and slower than possibly imaginable. Every ten minutes, it had only been ten seconds, but an hour had passed. But finally, somewhere late in the evening, he arrived. Oakley himself, the griffin, the myth, the legend.
She went to the door, pausing a moment before opening it. He was old. Very old, so she prepared herself for seeing some grey-haired, stooped-over, grandfatherly figure.
She pulled open the door.
Oakley was very much not a grey-haired, stooped-over, grandfatherly figure.
The first thing she noticed about him was his chest and the way his impressive pecs caught the light, seeing as that was where her eyes started. The next thing was how his broad chest tapered into a narrow waist, sporting powerful legs and a statuesque, godlike physique. Then the way he stood there in the doorway, defiantly, confidently, with the cockiness and charisma befitting such an appealing and attractive man. Then the tousled brown hair and the kind, hazel eyes that stared straight into her, then finally the fact that he didn’t look a day over 35.
Her mouth locked up, her hand freezing halfway to shake the hand of someone she had expected to be frail and small. She opened her mouth to speak and introduce herself, but her words caught in her throat and she stared like an idiot for a second before she snapped herself out of it.
“H-hi!” Shit. It was a hell of a first impression. She looked like a moron who couldn’t put a string of words together in a sentence. It wasn’t that hot guys made her uncomfortable or shy, it was that she had not been expecting him to show up and her brain hadn’t quite caught up with her body yet. “My name’s Poppy. Are you…?”
He smiled with a lopsided smile that probably made all the girls love him. He smiled like he knew he was hot, like he knew that he was distracting her, and the little bastard was enjoying it. “Oakley. Charmed.” His eyes drifted casually lower to her hand that she’d extended. “No contact, remember?”
She pulled her hand back to her hip. This couldn’t be him. Not Oakley, not some ancient being that several generations ago her family knew. He looked more like he belonged on the front page of Sexy Businessmen. “No contact?”
His eyes fell past her, studying her house which suddenly didn’t seem clean enough, even though she’d prepared it for a visitor. “Right.” His focus fell back on her, and an excitement, a heat, blossomed in her hips and spread outward. Tendrils of it ran down her hips, into her thighs and coiling around between her legs, snaking up to her heart and making it beat faster, faster, faster! He kept talking, seemingly unaware of the feeling that was ravaging her. She threw up a quick, tight smile and curled her fingers into her hip subtly. Down, dammit, down! He spoke.
“Immortal Council rules. Physical contact could contaminate you, and they’re going to need you…uncontaminated for the trial.” He waved his hand around for emphasis. “Magic aura and all. But regardless…” he paused, studying her for a long second. For just a second, just long enough to wonder if she’d imagined it, his eyes flashed with lust before it was gone. “I’m compelled to hear your story. Shall we start at the beginning?”
She slipped a hand over her hip to feel the energy rushing through her legs, resting it there before nodding and ushering him in. So, Oakley was here, and Oakley did not look like he was supposed to, but at least he was here. Hot or not, she needed help and he was the best chance she had at getting out of there. Eye on the prize, Poppy. Eye on the prize. No matter how much she felt drawn to him, sensing a magnetism and attraction from three seconds of seeing him, the end goal here was not being executed. There’d be time to figure out everything else. Right. Yes. Eye on the prize. Don’t die.
And ignore the passion gushing through her.
And don’t die.
Sounds like a plan.
2
Oakley held the cup of coffee that Poppy had made for him and watched the witch sit down across from him.
She was tall and had a svelte slim frame. Maybe five-foot-eight? She moved gracefully, athletically. Even if he couldn’t tell by the way she moved, her body gave away that she was an athlete. A runner, if he had to guess. She sat down and her legs flashed toned muscle before they relaxed. Definitely a runner. Her shoulders were rolled back confidently, her thick red hair coiled around her face and accenting her high cheekbones. Her green eyes watched him with an expression he could not fully decipher, interest perhaps, a coy, subtle smirk.
For a second, they stared at each other in silence as a tension filled the room. He brought the toasty coffee to his lips and drank some, relishing the taste before it rolled down his throat. The air conditioner outside kicked on. Neither one of them said anything. Instead, they stared at each other in silence, but not uncomfortable silence. It was as though they both wanted to see the other in more detail, and without having to outright say it, they indulged each other to their hearts’ content.
She was beautiful.
Exquisite.
Not just in the way her body was put together, but the way their eyes met and she didn’t look away. The way that the more he saw of her, the more he wanted to know. The way that, for having only seen each other once, he felt a tugging in his hips, a deep-rooted command to mate with her. A lust, perhaps, but more than that, a craving to unravel the mysteries behind her guarded eyes and to figure out what was going on in that brain of hers.
She took a drink of coffee, scanning him as well. She crossed her legs, resting a hand on her upper thigh. A shudder of passion exploded through him as her gaze finally betrayed her expression where her face would not. Lust. So she felt the same way. Not that they could do anything here, not that they ever would, but the attraction, the sheer attraction, seemed to suffocate the rest of the world. Everything fell away until it was just the two of them, sitting across from each other, drinking coffee, both knowing what the other was thinking but not acting on it, letting the tension and the feeling in the room grow and grow…until she finally spoke.