Love Potions Read online

  …

  Mo Chreach! That’s definitely one thing in the town’s favor.

  Erik grinned, despite the seriousness of his day. As he climbed up the hill, visions of a slender goddess filled his head—and his body. Her eyes were the dark blue of the night sky and a great complement to her gorgeous lips. No less stirring was her smell, a sweet blend of lavender and mint, combined with the subtle scent of her sex. Sometimes having extremely good senses came in handy. At other times, it was a nuisance—like when he met a woman who was attracted to him, and he didn’t have time to properly pursue their mutual feelings. When her pink little tongue had darted over her lips as those dark eyes watched his thickening erection, he’d almost burst through his pants.

  Erik shifted his weight, sticking his hands in his pockets in what he hoped was a subtle gesture. Had he realized he’d run into such a beautiful woman, he’d have worn looser pants. Especially when the woman boldly stared at his manhood until Erik wanted nothing more than to cast a spell to freeze the town so he could play out the passions coursing in his blood.

  Though, to be honest, he’d devoured her just as hungrily with his eyes—only he was lucky enough to recover first, able to hide his reaction under an easy grin. It had been years, decades perhaps, maybe longer still, since he’d felt such blatant need, such rampant uncontrollable desire. The kind of desire that made the beast in him want to take over his human form so that it could come out and play, the kind of liquid heat that made his magick surge to the surface. Even then, he’d usually seen the woman naked first.

  All the MacGregors were lusty creatures. Being first and foremost a clan of ancient warlocks, it was in their nature. Sexual energy, like all of life’s pleasures, gave brief surges of power to their magick. It fed them. And, if a man were so lucky to find his fíorghrá, he’d be powerful indeed. Each MacGregor had his own natural abilities and burdens. Erik’s burden was the fact he’d been born a shifter. Somewhere in his ancestry there was either a dalliance with a puma shifter or a spell gone wrong. Either way, it just happened to be a dominant part of his genetics.

  Most of the younger generation in the MacGregor clan had given up on finding their fíorghrá, and Erik was no different. It wasn’t like the old days. Yes, at one time Erik had wanted to find love and marry. However, if he had sat around pining for it over the length of his long life, he’d have ended himself decades ago. Sometimes it was best to accept what could not be changed and move on. The clan elders—who also happened to be his parents, uncles and aunts—had tried to push the fíorghrá matter, but in the end there was nothing they could do. It wasn’t like they could cast a spell when it came to the heart. To do so was forbidden and for good reason. Love couldn’t be forced or else it wasn’t love.

  “Love Potions,” he mused, walking faster as he neared the top of the hill. He owned a car, but had left it at the hotel. The day was too beautiful and his energy had been a little low as of late. The fresh air did him some good as did the simple pleasure of walking.

  Erik grinned. Perhaps he’d pay her store a little visit and show the pretty little lotion lady just what really went into making a love potion. The real ones wouldn’t make them fall in love, but it sure as hell would make them fuck like they were. A few of the right aphrodisiacs and he’d have her sprawled out on the floor for hours.

  Erik sighed. The idea had merit, as far as fantasies went. He would never do it to her unwillingly.

  The first step would be to get her out on a date. By the way she looked at him, that wouldn’t be hard. And if she came on to him, offering him the delights of her sweet body, who was he to say no? Unfortunately, because of who he was, he’d have to make her forget afterward. It didn’t matter than he felt a connection to her that went deeper than mere sex. With this being a new town, the elders wouldn’t appreciate him stirring up trouble with the womenfolk until they’d settled in and could conceal any mishap with their combined powers.

  Erik walked faster, the importance of his task weighing on him once more. Family responsibility called. For mortals, house shopping was merely a chore. For his family, it was more than a small burden. Their survival depended on making the right choice. There were too many considerations—size, security, natural elements in the surrounding area. It wasn’t like the days when vast, private estates were easy to come by, and if their kind became exposed they would just pick up and move to a different country. Nowadays, land was developed and technology connected the planet. If his kind were discovered, they’d be broadcast all over the world. Sure, joined, they could drop a veil over the eyes of a town like Green Vallis, could erase the memories of a few, but there was no way to control a worldwide exposure with magick. The 1590 North Berwick witch trials in his homeland were proof of that, and back then they didn’t have internet and viral videos to contend with.

  No, they had to lay low, play it safe or risk the persecution of the old days, when witches and warlocks were hunted by mortals. To this day the words “Old Tolbooth” and “Inquisition” sent a chill throughout the clan. The residual effects of those times still lingered in human mythos. Warlocks were portrayed as evil monsters when in truth the MacGregors were simply a magickal clan—one immortal, supernatural species in a hidden world of many.

  Actually, in a strange way, technology and science had saved his kind. With modern advancement came logic and understanding. Humans had explained away magick with reason and had given up folklore for the anesthetizing influence of too many movies. Fake magic tricks entertained them. Old magick, which had been a part of everyday mortal habit, had disappeared—like using ruins to create protection spells and hanging bells to ward off evil spirits. Superstitions were replaced by proposed fact.

  However human exposure wasn’t the only concern they faced. There were darker forces in the world that would love to see the MacGregors harness their power for evil. Though technically good by discipline, the ability to be bad was well within their reach. The balance of power inside each of them demanded restraint. Even Erik would admit there were times when the urge to let loose his energy, to no longer hide what he was, became strong. It was the love of his family that always brought him back from the edge, and he would do the same for any one of them.

  Erik sighed, tired of searching locations. If only he had just magical concerns with this task, but he also had the matter of fitting the needs his extended family. In too isolated an area they’d go mad with boredom, and bored warlocks were hard to keep out of mischief. Knowing he was going to be late for his appointment with the realtor, he let the wind take him, calling on it to speed his way. So far Green Vallis seemed like the answer to their prayers, and if all went well, as the signs had so far indicated, he’d be buying a house by the end of the day.

  …

  Lydia walked into her home through the kitchen entrance. She let the screen door slam shut behind her, as she shoved the cart over to the side so it was out of the way. The kitchen was cozy with light floral curtains, the pink and yellow pattern really subtle against the cream colored walls. The old fashioned décor screamed of her grandmother’s influence, and Lydia couldn’t imagine changing it. Bottles of lotion cluttered the otherwise pristine countertops. Love Potions’s line of self-pampering products had overtaken the house. As the business boomed, so did the hours she spent running it.

  They rarely used the front door of the house, as the kitchen faced the driveway and walk down to the town. Lydia had kept it locked since the vandalism started. Off the kitchen was the living room, stairwell leading to three bedrooms and a bathroom and the small entryway by the front door. Her living room had been converted into a cozy display area. None of the locals seemed to mind stepping into the home to pick up purchases.

  “Frank is up at the main house again,” Charlotte said, glancing up from the table. “Rumor has it he’s got a buyer.”

  Charlotte was her best friend and also happened to be her only employee. The woman was gorgeous, with the kind of all year tan, generous breast siz
e and big almond eyes most women would kill for. If not for her sarcastic personality, she’d have suitors tearing down the door at all hours of the day. But after years proving she could rip a guy of his masculine pride with just a sentence and a look, the men had stopped coming around.

  “Oh, yeah?” Lydia asked, still distracted by her little encounter on the way to the post office.

  Lydia glanced around her kitchen, not really seeing it. The old Victorian house was originally part of a big estate, having been built for someone’s mother-in-law. Later, it had become the servants’ quarters before Lydia’s grandfather purchased it for his bride. The “main house”, as they called it, was the old mansion further up the hill that some old displaced English lord had owned. It had been uninhabited for years as no one in Green Vallis was rich enough to buy and maintain it.

  Frank Fenton, the town’s only realtor, had been salivating over the idea of selling it for years. Before that, his father had tried to sell it. Lydia’s worst fear was that land developers would purchase the property and tear the historical mansion down, and even worse, turn it into a shopping complex. Annabelle had told her not to worry. Apparently her grandmother had cast some sort of protection spell over the house to keep it from falling into the hands of the wrong owners. If only Lydia believed in protection spells.

  “That’s all you got? Oh, yeah?” Charlotte demanded, wiggling with excitement.

  “What?” Lydia paused on her way to the refrigerator. Charlotte’s words sunk in. “You mean a serious buyer? A buyer, buyer? One with money? Not just someone curious to see inside?”

  “Fletch at the hotel told me some Scottish guy is here to look at it. Frank told Maggie, who told Fletch that Frank is pretty sure he’s got it sold this time. The man’s references checked out, which means he’s got money, and he’s motivated to buy.”

  Lydia paled. A Scottish man? Erik MacGregor? He was going to be her new neighbor? Mr. I’m so sexy Lydia will be fainting every time she walks out of her house with just the thought of me being so close? That was who was looking at the mansion?

  “Lydia, hon? Are you okay?” Charlotte instantly stood. “You’re pale.”

  “I guess Gramma’s spell wore off, huh?” Lydia took a deep breath and tried to laugh, but the sound was weak. Charlotte ushered Lydia to the chair. “Did Fletch say what the man wanted to do with the place?”

  “Let me get you some tea,” Charlotte said, instantly going to put water on the stove. “I just made some so it won’t be long before the water’s hot enough. And no, no one knows what the guy wants with the place. Fletch said he didn’t talk much. Just grabbed some local brochures and asked for a room.”

  Lydia picked an opened box of tea off the kitchen table. It was one from her newest collections. “Drinking my entire inventory again, I see.”

  Charlotte made a face. “Leave me alone. It’s your fault for having such great blends. Make tea that sucks, and I’ll stop drinking it.”

  “So will the customers.” Lydia chuckled. She leaned back and rubbed her temples, trying not to think about Erik or the way he’d made her a sensitive mass of nerves from head to toe. Maybe Gramma’s imaginary spell would hold up and he’d go away. She took a deep, trembling breath.

  “Maybe that’s a good thing,” Charlotte said. “Then we could keep up with orders.”

  “Being busy is good. No orders is bad.” Lydia laughed, but the sound was halfhearted even to her own ears.

  “Having dates is good. Working all the time is bad,” Charlotte corrected.

  “I wonder if they’ll make it a museum.” She bit her lip thoughtfully, trying to think of anything that would take her thoughts out of the gutter and put them back into her head. “That’d be great for walk-in traffic and for the town. Tourist places are always a great draw, and it would at least preserve the place.”

  Yeah, and the new owner wouldn’t have to be anywhere near the business. He could leave town and I’d never have to see him again.

  “So do outlet malls,” her friend drawled.

  “Ugh. I’d rather see it burned to the ground.” Lydia wrinkled her nose in distaste.

  “A bed and breakfast wouldn’t be awful. It has enough rooms.” Charlotte ran her hands through her hair, scratching her scalp while suppressing a yawn. “I’d do it if I could afford it.”

  “I met him.” The words tumbled out. She could never keep anything from Charlotte. Lydia toyed with the opened tea box so she wouldn’t have to meet her friend’s eyes.

  “Him, who?”

  “The Scotsman.” She tried to act unconcerned by it. “He helped me cart the packages to the post office, and then said he had to run to an appointment. Guess it must’ve been to see the house.”

  “Well?”

  “Well, what?” Lydia asked.

  Charlotte poured water into the cup before the kettle started to whistle. By the steam curling up from the rim, it was hot enough. Lydia grabbed a tea bag from her new line and opened it. The scent of mint and chamomile wafted over her. It was foolish considering she already had the tea packaged and would only have to do more later to replace it. For the moment, she didn’t care. The herbal blend would help to calm her tingling body.

  “The Scotsman,” Charlotte prompted, rolling her eyes. “Well?”

  “He’s,” Lydia shrugged, “all right, I guess.”

  Okay, so she almost always told Charlotte everything.

  “Ugh, just all right?” Charlotte frowned, looking disappointed. “They’re never like you hope, huh? Here I was having fantasies about a sexy foreign millionaire riding around on a horse in a kilt.” She made a small noise of wonder. “Huh. If Scotsmen don’t wear anything under their kilts and they ride a horse, do you think they chafe their manbits?”

  Lydia took a deep breath, barely hearing her friend’s attempt at a joke. The ache inside her would not go away, and not even the smell of tea helped. Adjusting her weight in the chair strangely turned her on. Poor Charlotte was in the same boat she was—no man, no dates, no lover and no prospect of them any time soon.

  What was wrong with her today? Was three years with no man finally starting to take its toll? Wasn’t the libido supposed to shut off after a while?

  She thought of Erik. He’d stared at her chest, and the thick interest jutting out against his pants had been unmistakable. Did she actually have a prospective one night stand? If he was to be her neighbor, then no. But if he was only looking and decided not to buy, then what harm was there in a small fling? She’d have to find a way around Fletch at the hotel. He’d tell everyone if he saw her going into a room.

  “You feeling all right?” Charlotte asked. “First you looked pale, now you look flushed. Should I call Dr. West?”

  “No, I’ll be fine. I might be coming down with something, but it’s not serious.”

  “You’re never sick.” Charlotte reached to touch her forehead.

  “Just tired, then. How are we on orders?” Lydia needed to change the subject. “Did you check the computer today?”

  “Yep, did it while you were gone. I even got most of the orders packed up in the living room ready to go. The majority of it was just lotion, so no big deal. By the way, we need to make a batch of lavender rose.”

  “I’ll do it tonight.” Lydia stood. “Why don’t you take off? It’s so pretty outside. No use in both of us being cooped up.”

  “Actually,” Charlotte said, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “I was thinking of a little recon work.”

  Lydia arched a brow. “You want to spy on Erik?”

  “Erik, is it?” Charlotte smirked. Lydia instantly knew she’d messed up. “So, Mr. Scotsman has a name, does he?”

  “Everyone has a name.” Lydia tried not to look flustered and failed.

  Charlotte hooked Lydia’s arm and pulled her out the door. “Come on, walk with me. Let’s just have a peek at this man you say is only ‘all right’. If the town’s lucky he’ll be single and have lots of brothers. We’re in dire need of some fres
h dating material.”

  Chapter Two

  Erik glanced around the dusty mansion’s front reception hall, not looking directly at the realtor. So far he was very impressed with the property. The old Gregorian style mansion sat high on a hill, overlooking the town below on one side and a long stretch of forest on the other. It was rare to find such a beautifully untouched location in America, though his family had lived in some wonderful places—Southern plantations, New York penthouses, even along an entire block in Philadelphia on the shores of the river—none really compared to those in the old country. There was a debate in the clan to move back to Scotland, but the truth was they were Americans now by legal paperwork and if the lot of them up and moved it would draw notice.

  Foundation-wise the house was in excellent condition, even though it hadn’t been lived in for some time. It didn’t matter. A small spell and his uncles would have it as good as new.

  “There’s about eighty acres total, including the forest and a small stream in the woods. If you’re an outdoorsman it’s perfect for hunting and fishing. About six acres are the old gardens in back. Several paths wind through the area. The gardens themselves are a little overgrown, but I’ve been told by the local nursery that many of the trees and shrubs are salvageable. The owner has asked me to extend their services, should you have a need of them.” Frank wanted the sale so bad he could hardly contain himself. Erik noted the man didn’t even have to look at the listing as he recited the property’s features.

  “My brother, Iain, will see to all that,” Erik told him, smiling at the thought. Iain would no doubt insist they put in another golf course, along with a shinty field. All of his family enjoyed playing the games. Well, everyone but his brother, Euann.

  New York living had become difficult. Yes, they could blend into the masses better and disappear into a crowd, but after two decades of concrete and metal, they needed to refuel. Their magick could only borrow so much power-infusing life from Central Park and rooftop gardens before they killed every plant in Manhattan.