SPIRITWALKER by Charisma Knight
Things can't get much better for Vivian Patterson. At the ripe ole age of thirty-eight, life is better than ever. She's got an excellent job, looks that kill, and a smokin hot bod. Oh she also has a loving, faithful boyfriend who sends her blood pressure skyrocketing through the roof. She couldn't ask for anything more, right?
Magnus Abernethy, Vivian's boyfriend is all any woman could ever want in a man. He is handsome as hell, has an adorable personality, and willing to go that extra mile to please his woman. Magnus is the total package. There is just one problem with this relationship. Magnus is a spirit, trapped within another realm...
This situation was never a problem for Vivian, but she discovers as time moves on, she craves him to be flesh and blood, forever, not just for an entire evening. Can Vivian and Magnus overcome a witch's cruel curse, and carry on through life, the way it was intended, or will the menacing dark force from their past threaten any happiness that may be in the stars for them?
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Excerpt:
Before getting dressed, she remained in the towel and seated herself at the vanity. For thirty-eight years of age, she was damn pleased with her looks. A few platinum streaks adorned her hair. Her skin was firm and showed no signs of aging. The beauty mark next to her left eye made her feel unique, and Magnus loved it. There was nothing about her he didn’t love. He’d spend hours exploring her curves and touching the small dimple in her chin.
Since she hadn’t had a chance to roll her hair the evening before, she decided she’d pin it up in a bun, leaving a few loose hairs to fall on her shoulders. She swore she’d never utilize another curling iron again. The damn thing nearly ruined her hair.
She hummed a tune Magnus had sung to her one evening while they lay together, talking about the simple pleasures life had to offer. After applying mascara and eyeliner, she dressed.
“Damn, you look good, even if you do say so yourself!” Vivian giggled at herself. Although not conceited, she was quite happy with everything she possessed, including her looks. Grabbing her purse, she floated out into the kitchen, poured her morning concoction into a large silver coffee cup and popped two frozen chocolate chip pancakes into the toaster.
She opened the blinds of the kitchen, allowing the beautiful sunshine to seep in. Reveling in the warmth of it splashing across her face, she closed her eyes and sighed, until she felt a hand on her shoulder. Gasping, she spun around and was immediately drawn into two gorgeous emerald pools.
“Damn you, Magnus!” Vivian held her hand to her chest, then swatted Magnus on the arm. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” Vivian placed a hand on her hip and batted her long eyelashes at the handsome Scotsman. Her breath deserted her as she observed him in all his glory. The man was at least six foot two. Possessing a large frame, his chiseled muscles made Vivian’s blood pressure skyrocket. His long, thick strawberry-blond hair was parted down the middle and hung to his waist. She recalled how, the night before, she’d fisted her hands in the strawberry-blond mass while he lingered for what seemed like hours between her thighs.
Magnus’ face appeared to be carved from stone. His hardened features rocked her world every time they met. His squared jaw sprouted bristles of hair, and she loved to finger the deep cleft within his chin. She observed how his jaw muscles twitched; he was just as aroused as she was. She could tell because the twitching increased. If it weren’t for work, she’d bed him down in a heartbeat. She smiled as she observed how fine lines etched themselves across his handsome, manly features. In bed, she often found herself tracing those lines around his eyes.
“Nay, me love.” Magnus bent down and planted a kiss on her lips. When he straightened, Vivian released a high-pitched laugh. Magnus arched a brow and folded his arms. “What amuses ye now?”
“Honey, I’m sorry, but— Here, wipe your lips. You have my lipstick on them.” Vivian doubled over at the expression etched on her lover’s face. His forehead wrinkled, and the dazed and confused look he sported was priceless.
“Ah, wait till ye return from work. I shall make ye pay for this. Then again, I should be used to yer jests.” A smile formed on his lips and he pulled Vivian close to him, planting fiery kisses along the column of her neck. Vivian groaned as she leaned into Magnus’ strong, muscular physique.
“Tell me what you plan to do to me.” Her lips parted, and she gently raked her nails across the flesh of his chiseled biceps. “Oh Magnus, please don’t—stop.”
“I shall put ye across me knee and give ye a spanking ye—so deserve.” Vivian giggled. She had spent years working with Magnus on his speech, sometimes in vain, she thought. Entrapped within the thirteenth-century time frame, his realm held control even over his speech. Even so, he still possessed that thick, intriguing accent that sent her blood pressure skyrocketing.
“Promises, promises.” She wrapped her arms around his large frame and buried her face into his chest. “I love you so much. I have to go—off to the rat races now.”
“Aye, ye best be goin’ now. Off wit ye! I just wish ye luck once more.” Magnus bent down one last time, giving her a peck on the forehead. His scent mixed within her nostrils, and Vivian gritted her teeth as she glanced at the clock. Would there be time for a quickie? No, she couldn’t risk it. There were never any quickies with her and Magnus. She would wind up missing the entire day of work. Quickly she dismissed the thought and focused on her job.
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