Love Spell Read online

  Love Spell

  by Stan Crowe

  Copyright Stan Crowe 2013

  Published by Breezy Reads at Smashwords

  No part of this book may be reproduced without written permission, except for brief excerpts for education or reviews.

  Published 2013 by

  Breezy Reads

  Contact: [email protected]

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Don’t forget to check out Stan’s other contemporary romance The Cinderella Project.

  ONE

  Clinton James Christopherson hated starting a Monday fleeing for his life. At best, he had one minute before the beautiful Jane Li would come knocking on the bathroom door; then it was game over.

  He wished he could have gotten away with more than just his pants.

  The metal rim of his tiny bathroom window bulged dangerously as he tried forcing himself through, but it refused to budge. There was no way he was going back into the lion’s den of his bedroom, where Jane lay waiting on the bed. The window would have to go.

  Do or die.

  Clint slid back inside, braced his legs against the edge of the tub, and seized the sliding pane on both edges. Gritting his teeth, he yanked backward. The pane popped free of the track and he stumbled backwards out of the tub. His hip met the sink hard before he slammed against the door to the crunch of cheap wood paneling. His head ached and his vision swam, but he struggled back toward the window. Blinking against the pain, he guessed he’d widened the opening maybe an inch or so at best.

  A knock at the door. “Clint?” Jane’s accented voice asked. “Are you finished? What are you doing in there?”

  “Uh,” he stammered. “I, uh, slipped on some water. Be out in a few moments.” I hope.

  “You will come now,” she insisted. “I have a surprise.” Her seductive voice didn’t mask the undeniable tone of command. Time was up.

  Hefting himself up to the window again, Clint contorted painfully through the gap. Okay—the hard part was over. Or not. Fifteen feet below, the lawn glistened with morning dew. Clint was certain that kind of a drop wasn’t good for his health.

  “Clint? I’m coming in.” The knob jiggled, but the lock held.

  “No, no! Almost done. One sec!” Suspecting that was all he had, he dropped back into the bathtub, begging whatever deity may exist to give him a hand. In response, he slipped on a puddle. Flailing blindly, he snagged the shower curtain and jerked the curtain rod out of place, stopping with a thud beneath the window.

  Wait a minute…

  To anyone watching the outside of Trillian Oaks apartment 215, a pair of long legs jutting through the window might seem bizarre. Watching the rest of a six-foot, college-age guy emerge from the window would be more memorable. To then see him dangling from a baby blue shower curtain would be one for the diary. That story ended with him losing his grip and smacking bodily on the lawn below a moment later.

  When Clint could see straight again, he almost regretted surviving the fall. Jane was halfway out the window, screaming something in Chinese. It didn’t sound like she was trying to order from Yang’s House of Noodles.

  “Blue blazes,” he muttered, focusing all his willpower to get himself up and moving again. He prayed his left arm hadn’t been fractured. His rib cage was a solid mass of pain. The throbbing in his head was keeping time with Beethoven’s Fifth. He staggered away from his apartment, knowing there was no chance of losing her now. Jane’s screaming receded back into the bathroom; Clint knew what that meant.

  I am so dead.

  He groggily surveyed the area, desperate to find cover. The playground was no good. The other apartment buildings were too far away, as was a pair of dumpsters across the parking lot. Ah! There! A Hummer squatted in the parking lot, a stone’s throw away. Immediately, he was running for it. A door crashed open somewhere behind him, and he turned to see Jane burst through the entrance of his building, searching furiously. Too slowly, he tried dropping behind the big SUV. Her gaze found his for an instant and a tremor shot through him. His will to live melted like butter under a laser. Then survival instinct smacked him upside the head and forced him to run.

  Sprinting through the parking lot, he ignored his aching legs. In his mind, Jane’s breath was already on his neck. Rounding a bend in the parking lot, he risked a glance behind him; then he finally found out what it was like to be hit by a car.

  Brakes shrieked and Clint flopped gracelessly off the passenger side of an old, blue BMW. Pure adrenaline got him back on his feet in an instant. No time to curse the driver; only enough for a withering glare at—wait—who? He stared at her. She stared back.

  “Molly?”

  The woman behind the wheel nodded for him to get in.

  “Molly!” He gasped before diving into the passenger’s seat, and jerking the seatbelt across him. “Thank all things holy that you’re here!”

  Molly eyed him quizzically. “I’m not a nun, Cli—”

  “I don’t have time for a religious discussion! Punch it!”

  A bullet ricocheted off the car’s hood a split second after a loud “POP.” Molly didn’t even flinch. She thrust the car into reverse, and put the pedal on the floor. The engine roared and the pungent smell of burnt tires filled the car; Clint nearly kissed the dashboard. Amid a staccato series of gunshots, half a dozen holes appeared in the windshield. His left ear felt the heat of a bullet.

  “You’d best stay down, Clint,” Molly said. As always, she sounded calm to the point of boredom. But even she was crouched low enough Clint wasn’t sure she could see out the back window.

  “This is worse than when she forgets her meds!” he said, panicked. “Since when did she start packing heat?”

  “Just sit tight.” Molly punched the clutch and cranked the wheel hard right, spinning her ride in a one-eighty. She dropped the car into drive, and floored it again. Drifting around a corner, she dodged startled pedestrians. The exit to the city street raced toward them on their left. At the last second, Molly executed a perfect handbrake turn to line up with the main entry of Trillian Oaks and sped into the street without pause. A Chevy pickup failed to see her much smaller car, and caught it right behind the driver’s side rear tire. The BMW’s tail snapped around tightly as Molly fought to correct. The car skidded sideways with a stuttering of rubber on asphalt. The passenger’s side tires rammed into the far curb. To Clint’s utter amazement, she avoided rolling the car and brought the vehicle back under control. Gunning the engine again, she sped off up the tight two-lane street.

  “Are you crazy?” Clint snapped. “You’re going to get us killed!”

  “Should I take you back to her?”

  “Absolutely not!” he retorted. “But slow down! This is a twenty-five zone!”

  Molly nodded. “That’s a good thing, or that Chevy would have ended our trip abruptly.” She had a point. If Clint hadn’t believed in miracles before today, he did now.

  The streets of Pittsburg, California blurred past in
the morning light as he caught his breath. This area was supposed to be a safe haven for him—new address, new phone number. No way for his psychotic ex to track him. Mom, Dad, and Holly had all wondered about the abrupt shift, but they’d accepted his vague excuse about wanting a change of scenery. And now, when he thought he was safe, his sister’s best friend came down with “the fever.” He hadn’t counted on that, but he knew the risks when he took them.

  My fault for hugging Jane last night, he thought bitterly. Molly, though… That was an accident.

  Clint glanced over at Molly to see if she showed any signs of being infected. Thankfully, she was fully engrossed in her driving. Part of him wished she had succumbed. No, he had to get rid of this thing; life wouldn’t have any hope of normalcy before he did. He had no desire to make a habit out of fleeing through tiny openings in second story bathrooms. His body groaned its agreement.

  “Molly?” he said. “Mind terribly taking me to an urgent care center? Mom and Dad didn’t build me to fall out of windows. I know, because they got mad at me every time I did that as a kid.”

  “You needed to be told not to self-defenestrate?”

  “Not since I was three. But survival instinct runs pretty deep. Jane wasn’t taking no for an answer. And let’s not forget that you hit me with your car.”

  Not even a hint of a smile crossed her lips. “You’re saying Jane had an actual intent to kill?”

  Clint grimaced. “You don’t even want to know what she threatened in the bedroom.”

  “Why did you let her in in the first place?”

  He turned toward her. “She kicked in my door!”

  “I thought men liked forward women.”

  “The door was dead bolted! Do you have any idea what that kind of thing does to a man’s psyche?”

  “You’re afraid of women?”

  “Only ones that can kill me with their bare hands. Call me a pansy.”

  “Pansy.”

  “I didn’t mean it.”

  When Molly didn’t respond, Clint turned to stare out his window. The view along Highway Four was a blend of soundwalls and suburbs. A tiny smudge of birds headed skyward in the distance. For a moment he wished he could fly away from this insane situation, carefree. Then he remembered that a wish had gotten him into this mess, and reneged on his desire for flight. Adding the weirdness of flight to the weirdness of being able to send women into a frenzy of lust with a touch? No way.

  At least something good was going on with his life—Graphitti Graphics had called him in for an interview. The Graphitti Graphics! For all it mattered to him, he may as well have gotten a call from Disney or Industrial Light and Magic! In seventy-two hours, he’d ace that interview, and show his college guidance counselor she’d been wrong when she’d tried steering him away from the arts. At last, three years of odd jobs were about to give way to something he’d actually gone to school for.

  Molly snapped his thoughts back to the present. “I need you to tell me exactly what Jane said and did from the time she arrived at your place to the time I found you.”

  “Why?”

  Molly stared straight ahead as she flowed along with westbound traffic. “The incident is still fresh in your memory. More likely to be accurate—details are important.”

  Clint looked back at her. “What? Did you plan on filing a police report? Don’t worry, I’ll take care of that as soon as I get done with the hospital.”

  “Personal interest.”

  Clint sighed. “Well, I guess it really started last night.”

  Molly raised an eyebrow, but didn’t look at him. “Explain.”

  “It was at Holly’s party,” he continued. “You were there.”

  “What does that have to do with this morning?”

  Clint chewed on his lower lip for a minute. Would she even believe him if he told her the truth? Maybe if he broke it gently…

  “Sorry for bumping into you, last night.”

  Molly shot him a quick, sidelong glance. “If you call tripping and landing on top of me a simple ‘bump,’ apology accepted. But that’s irrelevant to my question.”

  Clint glanced out his window to see if he could still see the birds. Maybe it wasn’t too late to join them? But no, there was no sight of them now.

  Clint exhaled. “Can I, uh, ask you a personal question?”

  “The First Amendment guarantees you that right.”

  He rolled his eyes. “No, I mean, can I ask you something personal and not have you get offended by it?”

  Molly glanced over her left shoulder, waited a moment, and changed lanes. When the maneuver completed, she glanced at Clint. “I may get annoyed at endless caveats tacked on to hints of possible questions. Ask. I’m not obligated to answer.”

  He bit his lip again. Here goes. “Um, did you… feel funny when I tripped into you?”

  “Being crushed by a one-hundred-eighty pound man isn’t on my list of ‘funny’ things.”

  She wasn’t making this easy. “No, I mean, skip all that. After the fact, did you feel dizzy, or giddy or, strangely blissful?”

  “I’m not actually a masochist. Ask Holly.”

  This was going nowhere. Yet, she didn’t seem to have been infected by her contact with him. Maybe it was worth testing?

  “Molly,” he probed. “Can I, like, tap your shoulder? Real quick?”

  “You already have my attention.”

  “Well, yeah, but… let’s pretend this is a scientific experiment. Just a quick tap.”

  She shrugged.

  This is stupid, he thought. This is so stupid.

  Clint extended an index finger. Slowly, he reached out for her shoulder, silently praying he’d survive what he was about to do.

  “I’m twenty inches away, Clint. I’ve admitted contact. You are allowed to move faster.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut, gritted his teeth, and then…

  Poke.

  Nothing happened. Her shoulder was simply soft, like a woman’s shoulder should be. Clint cracked one eye, expecting to see Molly frothing at the mouth. But no; it was just her and her normal, wonderful face under that coffee-colored hair done up like a ball of lovely passion waiting for the right moment to be turned loose.

  “Was that enlightening for you, Clint?”

  He watched her carefully as he asked, “Did you feel anything when I touched you?”

  She arched an eyebrow. “I’d estimate about half a pound of pressure on a quarter square-inch area of my shoulder.”

  “Well, yes, but… do you want me?”

  She actually turned to look. “Do I want you to what?”

  He tapped her shoulder again, this time with two fingers. Her eyes flicked down to follow the motion, and then back up to Clint, clearly curious. He repeated the motion several more times, trying her arm, her cheek, and her knee. Still nothing. This could be very, very good.

  “So, when I touched you, you didn’t start…” How did one ask a girl this question? “You didn’t start thinking of that old song about thinking I’m sexy and wanting my body?”

  Without so much as a blink she returned her attention to driving. “You fell on your head escaping your bathroom this morning, didn’t you, Clint?”

  “No! Well… not very hard. I was only—”

  “You’re a man; I’m an attractive woman. Your desires are very natural. If you’re trying to attract me in return, then my ideal date is playing chess in a dark café while he reads Poe to me over two cups of chamomile and mint tea with a touch of honey. Shoulder poking doesn’t do it for me.

  “I asked you about Jane, and I still need those details. You answer my questions and I’ll continue to allow you the pleasure of stabbing my deltoid provided you don’t distract me from my driving. I very much need to know about the incident this morning.”

  Clint flopped back into his seat, relieved. Inexplicably—blessedly—Molly was somehow immune to the fever brought on by his Touch. Maybe she was more closely related to him than he thought? The
gypsy had said something about close family being safe. His story was still the stuff of crazy people or bad movie plots, but at least he didn’t have to worry about whether or not he came in contact with Molly.

  “Okay,” he said. “About Jane. I gave her a hug last night.”

  “I’m sure she felt like the luckiest girl in the world.”

  Clint grumbled. “I wasn’t finished speaking. As I was saying, I hugged her last night. I’ve had my eyes on her since that time we ended up in a coat closet for five minutes after she lost at Truth or Dare.”

  “She didn’t lose.”

  “So, I… Wait… What?”

  “Please continue,” Molly said.

  Clint blinked in thought, and then shrugged. “Well, when I hugged Jane I… infected her. See, I’ve got this… curse thing going on.”

  Molly’s brow wrinkled. She changed lanes again, and headed for the exit ramp. Gratefully, Clint noticed a sign indicating that a hospital was nearby.

  “Look,” he said, “I know this sounds crazy. It took me three months of freak ‘coincidences’ before I believed it myself. Last year, this weird gypsy lady threw a flaming ball of chicken at me.”

  Molly’s mouth opened, but Clint cut her off. “Yes, I know that sounds ridiculous. Long story short, I ended up in her little traveling circus and made a wish. It turned out to be a curse. And now I can hardly wave at a girl without having her go gaga over me—unless she’s ‘of age and not descended from my great grandparents,’ is what I was told.”

  Molly’s eyebrows came up. “Considering your dating history, Clint, I’d say you’re flirting heavily with arrogance there. Have you been taking testosterone boosters lately?”

  He waved it away as the car rolled to a stop at the traffic light at the ramp’s end. “Look, I’m serious. My Touch… It’s like a drug or something. Women totally lose their minds. Especially Jane.

  “She came to my place this morning. She had it bad. There was no stopping her. I know you want details, but I’d rather not repeat the laundry list of things she said she had in mind for me. She made it very clear that she owned me. Once she started getting aggressive, I faked the urge to pee and excused myself to the bathroom. I guess you know the rest.”