Outfoxing Mysta Excerpt

Outfoxing Mysta Excerpt

“Hey, why don’t you sit down?” Viktor moved closer to her and held out his hand.

She found the gumption to move. She closed the distance and settled down on a stool, close to him. He stepped up to her and grinned.

Viktor reached out and cupped her face. For a moment she thought he was going to kiss her. Hope blossomed inside of her. The warmth of his touch spread, and her heart tripped over itself. She inhaled. Her skin tingled where he touched her. The dull sound of fireworks exploding overhead could be heard, but for the life of her she couldn’t turn her gaze toward the skylight to see what color combinations the witches in charge had come up with. Her world had narrowed down to the light green of his eyes. This close she could see his pale eyelashes, the freckles across the bridge of his nose, the way his delicate nose upturned at the tip, and the smile curled on his light pink lips.

“Got your favorite wine,” he whispered. “And more chocolate. You ready to eat?” He gave her nose a quick peck and backed away. “Come on, who’s it going to hurt to share a meal with me?”

Disappointment filled her at such a simple touch. Damn it. How could she resist him?

Fireworks rocked the building. She pulled her attention away from him, afraid to drown in those eyes once more and darted a look at the skylight that gave a glimpse of the night sky. Colors of green, blue, yellow, orange, and pink formed flowers against the inky black, blotting out stars and moon. Mysta tilted her head back and watched as someone in stereotypical witch garb on a broomstick streaked across the sky. She groaned. Of course a few of the local covens would get drunk and decide to use flying spells. They were probably buzzed with all the free magic floating around.

“Would your Bridget be so daring?” Viktor asked. Humor laced his voice.

“No. She hates heights, and none of us would be willing to get on a broomstick. Not much keeping you from falling off and the distance between the ground and sky. Well…” She shuddered. “Besides there are no spells to buckle you to the broom. There’s also the question of why do it.” Not enough money, boots, chocolate, or jewelry could convince her it would be worth it.

“I don’t know, for the adventure?” Amusement tinged his voice.

“Uuuuh, no. This is where we differ. You enjoy skydiving and bungee jumping. I prefer my feet planted on terra firma. Planes, trains, and cars are fine ways to travel.” A memory of his old car surfaced, followed by a brush of heat at memories of all the kisses and heavy petting they did in the backseat. She smiled. “Remember the blue devil?”

Viktor’s face brightened, and his eyes glinted with joy. “How could I forget? Gorgeous, restored Mustang convertible.”

“Nancy Drew’s car.” She couldn’t resist needling him.

Viktor pointed his index finger at her, a serious expression on his face. His eyes sparked with irritation. “Not Nancy Drew’s car. A classic.”

“It was blue—”

“Not Nancy Drew’s car.”

“It was a Mustang.”


“It was made by Ford.” She smiled, delight drowning out the slight desire in her body.

“Look, Nancy just has good taste, that’s all.” He shook his head. The thick, blond waves of his hair fell forward, obscuring one eye. He reached up and pushed it back.

She moved closer to him. It was too much fun to tease him, so much that she could temporarily forget her desire and her need for distance. “Why can’t you just admit you have a car in common with Nancy Drew?”

He huffed out a breath. “Because you keep taking the piss out the blue devil. And we don’t share a car. She’s a fictional character.”

“And because you can’t stand that I called your precious car a girlie car.”

He shook his head. “Do I make fun of your Aston obsession?”

“It’s different. It’s James Bond’s car. It’s cool,” she pointed out.

“And Nancy Drew’s car isn’t?”

“Well it doesn’t have an ejector seat or shoot missiles from the headlights. It’s nice, but it’s not an Aston.” Just thinking about the vehicle sent a shiver of pleasure up her spine.

Viktor rolled his eyes. “You’re a car snob, is what you are.” He headed around the counter.

“And? A girl’s gotta have standards.”

“Right, so where were your standards when your parents got you the Bug?” He bent down and brought up a fat stack of napkins.

“Well it was kind of cute…” She was lying. It had been a hideous rust bucket, but it was her duty to defend it since it was her first car and all her family could afford at the time.

“It’s was bright yellow.” He enunciated his words slowly.

“Okay, fine. It was a piece of crap and needed to be jumped at least three times a week just to get it going, and one windshield wiper didn’t work no matter what you did to it, and it always smelled of curry even though the old owner hated the stuff, but still…it was…cute. It had a happy face sticker we could never get off.” She shrugged. “And who wouldn’t want a smiley face on their car?”

“Ha! Just as stubborn as usual.” He faced her now. “So dinner, ready for it?”

No, but she didn’t say it aloud. Her stomach rumbled. She still hadn’t found anything on hobgoblins for Bridget, and it looked like this would be a long night. Viktor wouldn’t leave her alone so long as she stayed here to research. She might as well play nice. Maybe then he’d leave her be.

“Sure, why not.” She joined him at the table and sat down on a stool. What harm could eating with him do?

-End of Excerpt-

Comments are closed.