Curtis resumed whittling as he waited for her response. And why not wait? He already knew what her answer would be.
“You want Ian to come to a coven meeting. What else, exactly, do you want from us?” Because now it wasn’t just about her. This was Grant, Sophie, Mariana, and Agnes’ problem too. She’d pulled them down with her because of that stupid, stupid curse. She’d tried so hard to avoid just that, but the curse always won, even in ways she hadn’t anticipated.
Curtis’ tone was light. “Let’s have Ian go to the meeting, and we’ll see.” He made everything sound so blasted reasonable. It was unbearable.
“I won’t agree to anything else. I can’t agree to anything else. I need their consent, too.” Cleo was out of her depth. What was she even negotiating?
Whatever it was, it made Curtis smile. He was gorgeous when he smiled, and looked years younger. Cleo suspected that Curtis knew that and narrowed her eyes. His smile widened.
“That’s perfectly reasonable,” he said. “Now Ian, if you wouldn’t mind helping our lovely guest back to her car?”
Ian grunted his assent. He’d been looming over her the entire time - whether because he was a possessive bastard or if he was still worried she’d faint, Cleo didn’t know. Maybe a bit of both.
Chapter Fourteen
The hike back to the woods was easier, even with Ian’s heavy silence. He moved more slowly than Jenny, and politely held back branches so she wouldn’t get scratched. When she’d thanked him, Ian looked so aggravated she hadn’t repeated it with the subsequent branches. He looked powerful and graceful striding smoothly over pine needles and leaves. Cleo realized she’d never seen him relaxed before now, but parts of him seemed looser here, under the shade of the birch and poplar. Not entirely relaxed, but something close to it.
When he got into her car, Ian leaned down and rested his arms at the top of the driver side window. It did nice things to the muscles in his arms.
“I’m coming to your next coven meeting,” Ian said.
“That’s what I hear,” Cleo said wryly. Ian frowned. Cleo smiled sweetly. “Do you still have the printed-out sheet with the nights you’re supposed to stay inside?”
Ian grimaced. “I may have recycled that.”
“Then look at your calendar. Next new moon, be at my place.”
“I’m coming over tonight,” Ian said. “You’ll need more tea, and I need to check on how you’re doing.”
“Can’t you just leave it by the front door?”
Ian shoved away from the car door. He’d hardly put any effort into it, and still the car rocked slightly. He rapped on the top of the roof.
“I can,” he said, “I just don’t want to.”
Goddess help her.
It was a week-and-a-half until the new moon. Cleo kept herself busy with her garden and her veritable gallons of tea. Gallons. Ian came over daily to check on her, which was sweet in his own awkward, domineering way. Cleo figured out that imperious commands equaled a get-well-soon card from the man. She ignored all of them except for the ones that suited her. Unfortunately, that seemed to be most of them. So Cleo slowed everything down, making it clear that it was her choice. He’d huff impatiently as she stopped to chat in the middle of getting a cup or making her tea. Eventually, he’d gotten so frustrated that he’d taken over the process entirely.
“Here,” he said, slamming down a mug. A little tea sloshed over the side.
Cleo made a show of stretching, her arms high over her head. “Thanks,” she said, but caught Ian’s hot eyes on her. He raked his gaze down her body, lingering on her curves. He raised his eyes from her breasts, turned, and left the house without a word.
She’d thought about kissing him, but apparently that was not happening again. Maybe the little interlude the other night was an anomaly. Even still, it was one she had hoped to repeat, but Ian kept his distance, even as his eyes crossed the boundaries again and again.
When the new moon finally came, Cleo was up to drinking her tea every other hour. It was embarrassing how much she peed. She was fairly sure this was going to be the first coven meeting with a potty break. So much for being professional.
Grant showed first. He had a loaf in each hand. One was a delicately herbed bread. Cleo was definitely trying that.
She made grabby hands towards the second loaf, and Grant chuckled.
Ian came into the room then, filling it with his shoulders and his presence. Ian saw them, Cleo’s silly grabby hands and Grant’s shy laughter, and frowned.
He placed himself in front of Cleo, cutting off her access to the other loaf.
“Hey!” she cried, “I wanted to see that!”
“What?!” Ian choked out.
Cleo paused, confused. Then realized the likely cause of Ian’s ire. Grant had been holding the loaf near his waist. Ian didn’t really think she was making grabby hands about Grant’s…. Oh Goddess. Ian totally thought that.
“Ridiculous man,” she muttered, attempting to shove Ian aside so she could get around him. Like the other times, he moved only when he wanted to move. Reluctantly, he angled his body and Cleo lunged forward, grabbing the second loaf.
“It is raisin! I knew it!” she crowed. She was determined to ignore Ian and his stupidity.
“Uh, hi?” Grant asked Ian, who had moved a little to the left of her.
Ian gave a cool hello. He was trying, she’d give him that. Maybe she shouldn’t ignore him. Manners screwed everything up.
“Grant, this lug is Ian. Ian, this is Grant, baker extraordinaire,” she said. Ian didn’t look impressed. In fact, he looked… a little pouty. As pouty as a heavily muscled, granite-faced man could look.
“How are you,” Grant said politely. Ian didn’t answer, and Cleo couldn’t quash the annoyance that bled into her tone.
“He’s just
