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  He didn’t need a second nudge and his mouth descended on hers, blocking out all thoughts of locks and bolts.

  Delilah disengaged long enough to shed his shirt from her shoulders and leave it on the floor in the entryway before taking his hand and leading him down the hall to her bedroom.

  Because this was the only way she got involved these days, and because it only happened when she let it, she was prepared. When Mr. Green-eyes peeled his t-shirt, she was waiting with a condom she had pulled from her bedside drawer.

  Quickly, they stripped away their clothes and the bedcovers. Delilah was only a little surprised that he fought her for dominance. She should have been a little more firm about how it was going to go. But later, lying there, sated, she realized she hadn’t thought that far ahead.

  Brandon stood, naked, and looked down at the woman dozing on the fine cotton sheets. Her fingers curled in against her palms and her hands were pulled in next to her body. She looked peaceful and docile and nothing like the hellcat who’d just wrung him out.

  Wandering down her hallway, he touched his head. He still felt drunk, although the physical activity he’d just completed should have sobered him right up. Also, he’d only had beer, and not that many of them, at the bar earlier. It seemed much longer than . . . two hours? since she’d offered to bring him back here.

  Brandon glanced down at his watch, the only item of clothing that he still had on after that crazy round of sex. He searched the fridge, finding a glass and a pitcher of cold water. The chill hit him as he drank it while making his way back over the soft carpet to her bedroom. For a brief moment he wondered if she had a roommate or someone he should worry about while he was walking naked through her apartment. But he dismissed the thought as quickly as it came.

  A strange light flickered in the doorway of her bedroom, and that combined with the cold water brought him fully alert. As he stepped into the opening, he was surprised to find her awake. She was sitting, facing away from him, on the side of the bed. Moreover, he was relieved that the odd light was nothing more than the glow of a candle she was lighting.

  Her blonde hair was almost platinum in the amber glow, and it brushed the middle of her back in loose curls that had previously been near-perfect ringlets. Now it was a near-perfect mess, and knowing that he was the one who’d messed it was sexy as hell.

  She turned to smile at him, pink lips reminding him what she’d done and where she’d done it. Her eyes were liquid and fathoms deep in the candlelight. She picked up a sprig of something and held it into the flame. Soft, gray smoke curled upward and disappeared.

  Brandon didn’t think anything of it until the awful smell hit him. His nose wrinkled against his will and without thought he dove across the sheets toward her. “Don’t please. I’m . . . allergic to a lot of incense.”

  That wasn’t true at all. But that stuff stank.

  He grabbed it from her hand and blew out the glowing ends on the small blooms, sloshing a little of his water on the sheets as he did.

  He figured he should apologize, but now that he was lying across the bed he felt the turning sensation in his brain again—like he was drunk. He closed his eyes and the world felt like a boat rocking beneath him. For a moment, he wondered if he’d been slipped something more powerful than alcohol at the bar. He’d thought only women really had to worry about that. He was getting ready to ask her if she’d noticed anything, when he realized he couldn’t remember her name.

  She was leaning over him, reaching for the half-ashed stem in his fingers. She took it away and asked him what it was that he wanted.

  But that was a stupid question. She had just leaned over him, naked, making him forget all about her stinky incense. The world had stopped spinning as the ends of those mussed curls tickled across his bare chest. The sheets were still tangled from the best no-holds-barred sex he could remember. And she asked him what he wanted.

  So he reached out for her soft skin and showed her.

  Delilah gazed at the man beside her, watching his chest rise and fall in rapid waves, much like her own was doing. She let out a breath.

  The universe was right. Tonight had been her night. The olives had not deserved the way she’d cursed them.

  It was midnight. Perfect timing. If she got him out of here and then passed out within twenty minutes, she could catch a neat two hours of sleep before she had to get up to go to work.

  As her breathing and his slowed to a more normal rate, she moved into action. Delilah kissed her fingertips, imbuing her touch with an extra nudge, leading him to agree with her. “Thank you. That was fantastic.” She caressed his upper arm with a sweet stroke, intending him to absorb both the compliment and the suggestion a little more deeply. “But I need to get some sleep now. I have to get to work at three.”

  He rolled to look at her, his eyes showing that he’d been affected by the simple magick. He smiled. “I should get some sleep, too.”

  However, instead of standing, he reached for the covers, pulling them all the way up and over both of them before she could get her bearings. She tried again.

  “No,” She kept her voice soft but steady and firm, “I need to sleep alone. You should go.”

  His laugh rumbled low in his bare chest; he was still not agreeing. “You don’t need to sleep alone, and I’m too tired to move.” His arm came up and around her, pulling her closer and alarming her more.

  Surely he wasn’t immune to her magick.

  That would mean that he was stronger than her. She would have sensed that right from the start.

  Again she pushed a little extra power into her touch and shoved against his chest, still barely budging him. “I have to go to work at three. That’s just a few hours.”

  Delilah hadn’t even added a kick to her words. She was a little panicked by his nonchalance, which was enough to make her forget the magick that should be second nature. She was functioning on pure logic.

  Unfortunately, logic didn’t work on him either.

  “You shouldn’t have invited me home if you have to work that early. The room is spinning like I’m drunk, so I can’t drive. And I don’t think you really go to work in a few hours anyway. Who starts work at three a.m.?”

  He snuggled in a little deeper under the white fluffy comforter and let his eyelids drift shut.

  Fine, if he wanted to sleep, he could just sleep through the forgetting.

  As his face relaxed, Delilah rolled herself up to sit on the side of the bed, relaxing now that she had a Plan B. With a deep breath to re-focus herself, she lit the white beeswax candle again and pulled out a fresh stick of lavender, lighting the tips of the small white blossoms.

  She woke him to hand him the smoking sprig figuring she would just push him out the door while he forgot.

  But he didn’t go.

  Brandon sat up, coming awake with the burning lavender in his fingers. He frowned at it, crinkled his nose and blew it out. “That smells bad. Stop doing that.”

  He handed her back the burnt blossoms and rolled over, tucking the covers under his chin.

  What was wrong with him?

  Delilah sniffed the lavender for herself. It didn’t stink. It wasn’t beautiful, but it didn’t produce a smell worthy of the faces he made.

  She was startled from her wonderings of what the hell she might have done wrong by a soft snore.

  The damn man was out like a light.

  She should never have indulged in that second round with him. She’d worn him out and now what was she going to do?

  Her shoulders slumped. She could burn the lavender and cast the spell on him. He’d forget about her and what they’d done. But he’d still be in her bed, so that was just fruitless.

  After nudging and shaking him more times than she could count, Delilah gave up.

  Fine, he’d believe she had to be at work at three a.m. when she woke his sleepy ass up at two fifteen.

  Chapter 2

  The harsh, incessant beeping of the alarm woke her just like i
t did every night she worked.

  This time it also woke the sleeping man beside her. Which never happened.

  He groaned and held his head. Then moaned, “Turn that off.”

  “I have to go to work.” Delilah gave him a good shove, pleased to see that she had finally roused him. It hadn’t even taken any magick, just a nasty sounding alarm.

  “Seriously?”

  She sighed back at him as she stood up. “Yes. I told you that. Now get your ass out of bed and get dressed.”

  He didn’t.

  By now that didn’t surprise her. She had a plan now; she could work around it. He sat there, the covers pooling at his waist, looking like just the thing she’d had in mind when she’d blown some of her hard earned money on the very expensive sheets. She simply hadn’t planned on him still being here in her sheets afterward.

  “Just what kind of work do you do at three a.m.?”

  He was trying to catch her in a lie, but she wasn’t lying. Still she wasn’t quite up to the whole story. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Sure it does.” He sat there, making no moves to get out of her bed, her apartment, her life. “I don’t owe money, do I?”

  All she could do was gasp an outraged “ah!” in response to that. His raised eyebrows and the grin that signaled the start of a laugh only made her more upset.

  This time she went for Plan C. It made little difference what she told him. Once she got his hand around that lavender long enough to say the word, he wouldn’t remember any of this. “I’m a pastry chef.”

  “At three in the morning?”

  “I’m done by eleven when the restaurant opens.” She opened her closet to reveal a row of black and white checked chef pants beside pressed white jackets. Grabbing one of each, she started getting dressed. Let him watch. He’d already seen her naked. And he wouldn’t remember it anyway.

  But when she turned, Brandon was climbing into his own previously pressed pants and stretching his t-shirt over his head.

  Excellent.

  As he disappeared into the bathroom, she lit the candle for a third time.

  He must have only ducked in to wash his face or something, because he never closed the door and he was out before she had the first blossom burned.

  “Oh God, please. Not the incense again.” His handsome face twisted at the smell and his hands came up in front of him as though he could ward off the smoke. “Burn something else, I beg you.”

  Crap.

  There was no way she was going to be able to hand this man a sprig of burning lavender. Not that he’d remember later, but if she couldn’t get it into his hands now . . .

  “Then go into the living room. I want to burn it.”

  “Fine.” He made a face and shoved his hands in his pockets.

  Delilah sat for a few minutes of her precious morning time and watched the lavender turn to smoky ash. Would it matter if he just went out the door now? He wouldn’t forget, but he might go.

  Or he might come back.

  He just couldn’t come back. She couldn’t afford to see anyone. Maybe later when she was steadier on her feet, but not now. Not when she’d bungled the last time so badly. Not when she’d been so off her alignment earlier that night.

  She caught the falling ashes on a tissue and carefully wrapped them before tucking them into the wide pocket of her pants. Best to be prepared.

  Draping the chef jacket over one arm, she went out into the living room to find Brandon sitting there on the couch waiting for her. With a smile, she led him out of the apartment into the dark of night. Twice in the hallway and again in the elevator, she tried to slip the lavender ashes into his pocket. Since they’d accidentally left the bottle-green button down shirt where it had been kicked the night before, she was stuck trying to get the tissue into his pants pocket. Not an easy feat for someone with absolutely no sleight-of-hand skills.

  He evaded each attempt without even realizing it. So when he tugged at the door handle on the passenger side of her car, Delilah didn’t try to stop him. She’d slip the lavender to him—somehow—and let him off back at Gin’s. He could drive himself home from there.

  Unfortunately, having her hands on the wheel made it remarkably hard to stuff a tissue into his pocket. Especially when he was sitting on the only pockets he had. So she pulled up at Gin’s having made no headway whatsoever. “Here you go.”

  She’d kiss him and stuff it into his back pocket under the pretense of feeling him up.

  “Where are we?” He looked puzzled.

  Oh dear Goddess. “We’re at Gin’s. Isn’t your car here?”

  Bad move. How was she going to sneak in a passionate, stuff-ashes-in-your-pocket kiss after that snotty remark?

  “My car isn’t here. I’ll bet Dan drove it home.” His hand went to his head and he grinned. “I swear I’m still drunk. Did you slip me something?”

  Not in his drink.

  Delilah sucked in a breath. Was he half-spelled? Had all the partially burned lavender she’d handed him had an effect?

  She laughed as though, no, of course she hadn’t done any such thing. Then topped it off by rolling her eyes at him for being so silly.

  He grinned back, dimples emerging again as the humor spread across his face and into his eyes. “You know, you’re gorgeous when you think I’m being ridiculous.”

  She faked a laugh again. This was not good. Somewhere too deep down to remember, her heart gave a small tug. Even though she knew for a fact that he was snookered on lavender smoke and he didn’t mean a bit of it.

  To combat the melting around her heart, Delilah put an extra edge to her words. “Can’t you just call a cab?”

  “Sure.” Still he made no move to get out of her car.

  Delilah waited. For her efforts she was rewarded with, “I’ll call from your work. Can you feed me?”

  “You have got to be kidding me!” She blew. That was it. He wanted to be fed?

  All he had to do was hold the damn lavender while it burned. There wasn’t even a flame! Every other guy had thought the lavender was cute, or sweet, or interesting, or something, and they’d each gone out the door saying goodnight until she’d told them to forget. She’d made certain that it worked. Every time, she watched out the window, seeing them wander out the front of the apartment onto the sidewalk and take a confused look around. After a moment, they seemed to get their bearings and they’d walk off with no memory of her. Why couldn’t he?

  Why couldn’t he be serious? He could not come to work with her. Could not.

  As he broke into her mental rant, his voice was melodious and low, as though he were telling a lover a secret. “You made me work up an appetite. And I want to see where you work. I’ve never seen a pastry chef cook before. I’ll bet you’re fantastic.”

  “I’ll bet you’re high!” She retorted.

  He shrugged. “Sure sounds like it.”

  Her shoulders slumped. It was her fault he was high. Half cast spells were unpredictable and therefore dangerous. They weren’t always merely half as effective. There were often weird side effects. Clearly, Brandon was getting firsthand experience of that now.

  Delilah put the car in gear and thanked her stars that no one worked her shift with her. Of course, that was by design, but certainly not because she expected to be driving hot, hungry, half-spelled men into work with her. She couldn’t unleash him on society like this—middle of the night, high, left alone in the heart of Hollywood. Who knew what he’d do?

  She pulled up at the back entry to the restaurant without saying another word to him. She didn’t need to talk to him, she had a whole bitch session going in her head. Stepping out of the car, she finally spoke two words. “Come on.”

  Like a puppy—make that a large, tipsy, male puppy—he followed her into the kitchen. Paying attention to him out of the corner of her eye, Delilah grabbed her old-fashioned time card that she secretly loved and punched in five minutes before three. Deep night converged beyond the windows blocking all sens
e of the world outside the brushed steel walls.

  Brandon watched as she slipped her arms into the chef’s jacket and buttoned the white cord frogs across the front. She pulled her hair clip from her pocket, only briefly noting that she’d tucked the red one there before hanging it in her closet.

  He tilted his head. “Very fifties.”

  She smiled and slipped her ponytail into the matching hair net sewn into the huge red bow. “It was either this or those nylon things. I love to cook, and I like my hair long.”

  His eyes hinted that he was interested in more. And maybe that his brain still wasn’t quite screwed in straight. “It’s kinda sexy.”

  No, it was the only non-cafeteria-lady way around something that was necessary. But he took that thought out of her head as he braced his hands on the counter behind him and prepared to hop up.

  “Don’t!” She reached out to pull him away.

  Startled, he let her.

  He was probably a smart man. He’d seemed so before she’d messed with his head. It was all her fault that his decision making skills were shot. She explained. “You can’t put your butt on the counter, I cook people’s food there.”

  It was time to end this. She pulled the tissue with the ashes from her pocket, then frowned. He was a little loopy, not stupid. He wouldn’t just take the ashes from her. He’d want to know what it was. While she was strong enough to nudge him, only the very best could make a creature act against its nature. Jules had been able to, but not Delilah. There was no way she could completely override his strong dislike of the stuff.

  When she looked up, he was gone.

  Her breath sucked in and her heart fluttered with panic. Her soon-to-be-ex lover was a little drunk and now lost at her job.

  But he reappeared from the office with her boss’s chair, which he promptly plopped into the open space beside her and then he plopped his sweet ass into it. His eyes twinkled and he grinned the same grin that had made her take him home in the first place. “So, what do you do first?”

  She sighed. First, she thought, I solve all my problems. On to Plan D.