Sex and the Psychic Witch Read Online Free PDF Page A

unforgiving chin, and his soft-worn tee, as black as his hair—despite the dusty construction site—made him look like Satan come to call.
    Granted, the negative energy in this place had long ago created a type of karmic quicksand, the kind that sucked you under before you could call for help, but her presence had calmed some of it, so why was he so upset?
    She had a psychic job to do, whatever it was, yet her host seemed to be doing his best to stop her. She couldn’t tell him the real reason she was here, a lie of omission he probably sensed. Between the two of them, there were enough karmic vibes and raging pheromones to hamper anybody’s endeavors, never mind a mandate as nebulous as hers.
    The pheromones, she couldn’t help. A physical sexual pull was just that, and theirs carried enough energy to light New York. She’d deal with that later . . . or not.
    She did, however, need to understand his karmic vibes. “I realize you’re a Paxton,” Harmony said, “but how closely are you connected to this place?”
    “I own it, lucky sucker that I am.”
    When she attempted to circumvent him and hit the Down button, Paxton took her wrist in a grasp she found both gentle and stimulating. Now she was more turned on. No. That couldn’t be right. She hated being touched, except by her sisters . . . and, apparently, by Brass Ass McGrumpy.
    Slam it! He’d breached her protective circle of light, and she hadn’t realized it. She’d forgotten about keeping herself protected, or her sphere of white light remained intact, and she didn’t need protecting from this guy.
    As she watched, Paxton’s luminous whiskey eyes probed hers . . . and didn’t she want to give him . . . everything he wanted. His gaze touched her physically, stroking her brow, her lips, parting them . . .
    Harmony struggled from her sensual stupor. She knew better than to meet a man on a spiritual plane. Yet this didn’t seem to be the same man. Had she dreamed his ego trip of a short while ago, his certainty that this was a setup? Because now he was simply annoyed . . . and horny . . . and curious . . . and horny . . . no ego involved.
    Given his captivating gaze, not to mention his charisma and his body sculpted by a master, she could see why unwelcome setups might plague him. She also understood why he ran. Women chased him. Not the other way around. Sometimes he let them catch him, and when he did, he used them—for sex, nothing more.
    Not a one had ever touched his heart. Sex for sport, as he’d thought outside. Wait! She’d heard his thoughts? Her heart skipped a beat. Oh, oh.
    News flash—she could read him.
    Hot flash—mutual-attraction city going up. High-rise under construction. Hold on to your underwear.
    Good Goddess, she was sensually, sexually, and most important, cosmically hot-wired to the hunky tight-ass. If she let her emotional barriers down, she was screwed . . . literally.
    Why didn’t that sound as bad as it should?
    She might ordinarily think about jumping his bones, but under the circumstances, in the midst of her psychic mandate, she shouldn’t even consider it. Should she?
    Um, yeah. He was the best prospect she’d had in . . . Withering witch balls, he was the best prospect she’d ever had.
    Warning! When flying into the teeth of a cosmic sexual attraction, mistakes . . . of cosmic proportions . . . could be made.
    Slow down, she told herself. No knee-jerk reactions here. Take a deep breath. Think. And try to make some blooming sense of this.
    Why, of all the people she came across, could she read him ?
    She usually read people who owned the old objects into which she came in contact—dead people. Long dead. So why could she read this living, breathing hunk of hundred-proof testosterone, this earth god who filled his molded black T-shirt like a workout model?
    “You own the place alone, right?” she asked, to be sure. “No partners or siblings co-own it with you?”
    “That would be too easy,” he said. “I’d