Sex and the Psychic Witch Read Online Free PDF Page B

knew, but his ego despised human weakness, especially his own. He read her shirt again and something in the words, Proud to Be Awesome, made him frown.
    Reading her breasts distracted him, which annoyed him. And though she should probably be afraid of the way she could read him, she liked that he spent time thinking about what he’d like to do to, and with, her.
    Hot damn, they were in lust—mutual lust—which she knew, and he didn’t. Which she’d like to explore, and he’d fight. Oh, the possibilities.
    Because of his stubbornness, and because she’d revved his libido to a high-octane purr, she knew he was going to let her stay. Hot, and getting hotter, the sergeant suffered from a raging case of unwanted lust, yet his body kept cooperating.
    Enjoying her ability to bring him to his knees—figuratively speaking, un-blooming-fortunately—Harmony grinned inwardly, but she shouldn’t let her power go to her head. Because, in addition to his high-alert lust, Paxton was confused, annoyed, and determined to deny the sexual pull and halt it midsizzle.
    Like she’d let him work the sizzle anyway, she thought, admiring his fight. Glory, if only she had the time to tame him.
    As determined as him—and sorely tempted to jump his bones on general principle, if only to show her mettle— she at least understood that the gown and ring, or something connected to them, had fused this scorching, if temporary, psychic connection between them.
    She knew she had to put distance between them, or one of them was gonna catch fire and consume the other. “See you later,” she said, running up a set of tower-circling stairs, smiling because she experienced his aftershocks as he stood where she’d left him, poleaxed and reeling.
    The space she put between them, with each subsequent level she reached, lessened her ability to sense his emotions.
    Each landing appeared to lead to a different set of living quarters, as if the tower was the axis around which the castle had originally been built, which, architecturally speaking, didn’t seem possible, but what did she know?
    Harmony started her journey of discovery at the top. Finding vintage clothes would be serendipity compared to her psychic mandate, which might affect King Paxton himself.
    Whatever her purpose, she intended to make the journey count.
    She took a few false starts onto several floors, or wings—hard to tell which. The older wings were quite nautical in design. No surprise when the place was purported to have been built by a sea captain, the man after whom the former Paxton Wharf had been named.
    From what she saw, the castle appeared to have been redecorated by subsequent generations and modernized to a fault—the fault being the utter destruction, in some areas, of a truly remarkable piece of history and architecture.
    Ultimately, Harmony returned to the third floor and what appeared to be the most originally intact wing of the structure so far. She followed her psychic instincts and stopped in a black and red bedchamber that filled her with as great a sense of purpose as negativity. It must have belonged to the witch of Paxton Castle, a woman, judging by its furnishings.
    One aspect, however, confused her. Not the furnishings but the red damask walls bearing at least a dozen picture frames, all empty.
    Every object she touched, clasped, or held to her brow exuded a potently negative force, seething and perilous.
    The ghost of Paxton Castle could very well be the strongest negative entity Harmony had ever encountered.
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Chapter Five
    THOUGH negative and powerful, the Paxton Castle witch posed no threat, a surprise, when antagonism seemed to be the witch’s calling card. Then again, Harmony sensed that love might once have resided in this place, if only for a time.
    The red and black decor was as eclectic and contradictory as the witch herself, and despite the cryptic picture frames, it revealed a surprising love of art. No mate to Harmony’s ring hid in the