Dreams of Seduction

She doesn’t believe in magic—or love. Until a spirit goes walking on the wild side…

Spells, Secrets and Seductions, Book 2

Maggie O’Neill goes along with her two best friends’ candle-magick spell to summon a lover only because, well, they
are
her BFFs. She doesn’t really believe in this stuff. Yet the aftermath of the spell leaves her strangely hot and bothered, and then the dreams of a man start—and not just any man. Jed Bearson. Pity, since she’s sworn off men for the foreseeable future.

Jed, part-time deputy and painter, doesn’t tell many people that he has the ability to let his spirit travel outside his body. One night, despite his self-imposed rule to never invade anyone’s privacy, he follows an irresistible pull to Maggie’s bedside. He’s astounded to find her crying out his name in private pleasure.

After months of giving her space, maybe it’s time to approach her.

Maggie and Jed’s first touch is lightning hot—and their passion is a thunderclap of erotic pleasure.

But when Jed reveals he’s a spiritwalker, Maggie’s reaction is like a curtain of cold rain descending between them. Leaving him wondering what she’s afraid of. Magic? Him? Or of following her heart?

Warning: This book contains erotic dreams and fantasies, a candle magick spell, spiritwalking, lots of hot, sweaty sex, and a happily ever after that will make you sigh.

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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520

Macon GA 31201

Dreams of Seduction

Copyright © 2011 by N.J. Walters

ISBN: 978-1-60928-482-4

Edited by Heidi Moore

Cover by Kendra Egert

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Firs
t Samhain Publishing, Ltd. el
ectronic publication: August 2011

www.samhainpublishing.com

Dreams of Seduction

N.J. Walters

Dedication

To everyone who believes in dreams.

Chapter One

Maggie O’Neill stepped inside the pitch-black house and shut the door behind her. She didn’t bother to turn on the light. The silence closed in around her, pushing at her, reminding her that she was completely alone.

Her father had died when she was just a child, lost at sea in a freak storm. He was little more than a face in a picture to her. She had vague memories of a man who smelled like the sea, someone who would swoop her into his strong arms, spinning her around until she was dizzy.

Her mother and stepfather were dead, killed a little more than a year ago in a car accident. Their vehicle had been hit head-on by a pickup truck driven by a man who’d had way too much to drink. They were killed instantly. Then her beloved grandmother, Bride O’Neill, had passed a few months back of heart failure. Neither of her parents had siblings, so there were no aunts or uncles or cousins to ease the loneliness.

Dropping her purse on top of the antique oak dresser that sat just beyond the front door, Maggie kicked off her shoes and padded through the living room and into the kitchen. Not pausing, she went to the back door, unlocked it and stepped outside on the small deck. The cool autumn air swirled around her, tugging at her clothing and hair, caressing her skin with its icy fingers.

Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself and stared up at the moon. Her grandmother would have loved the crisp feeling in the air tonight, would have said there was a touch of magick on the wind.

Grammy had always urged her to believe in magick, in possibility.

That had been fine when she was a child, but it hadn’t lasted into her teens when she’d been uprooted from Burnt Cove by her mother and new stepfather. They’d moved clear across the country to California. It might as well have been to the moon as far as eleven-year-old Maggie had been concerned. The city had been overwhelming and noisy and just too much.

Maggie watched the stars winking in the sky as she thought about those days. It had taken her several years to get used to Los Angeles, but she’d managed. Although in all the years she’d lived there, she’d never really felt as if she’d belonged. Not like she did here.

After the fiasco of catching her fiancé and her best friend having sex together just weeks before the wedding, Maggie had dumped her fiancé, quit her job, sold her condo, disposed of most of her belongings and headed home. That was six months ago. She shook her head, marveling at how fast the time slipped away. The pain of betrayal had gradually eased, leaving behind an emptiness Maggie was still trying to figure out how to fill.

She would always be grateful to her grandmother for leaving her this cottage and a sizeable inheritance. That, coupled with her savings and the proceeds from her condo sale, left her financially stable.

But she was lonely.

Crossing the deck, she eased down onto a comfortable wooden Adirondack chair and pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs as she stared out at the water. The steady whoosh of the waves as they crashed onto the shore soothed her. She loved the ocean. Always had.

Life wasn’t all bad. Since she’d moved back home, she’d made two wonderful female friends.

Rhiannon Sparks and Esther Roberts were both down-to-earth, genuinely nice people. She’d met them both at Rhiannon’s store, A Touch of Magick. There had been an instant connection between the three women that had only grown stronger over the past months.

They had dinner together at least twice a month. In between, they’d meet for lunch, chat on the phone and maybe go shopping together. Maggie would often head into town and hook up with both women for an afternoon in A Touch of Magick’s coffee shop. There was always some kind of delectable chocolate treat to sample and good company to enjoy.

She’d been with her friends tonight. They’d met at Rhiannon’s place this time. It had been a normal evening until her friend had shocked both her and Esther with the pronouncement that what they needed was to get laid.

She’d laughed, but Rhiannon had been serious. Furthermore, she’d suggested they cast a spell to bring them all a lover, revealing that she was also a witch. Not Wiccan, but an honest-to-goodness witch, able to cast spells and do heaven only knew what else.

Maggie still wasn’t sure how she felt about the whole idea of Rhiannon being a witch. It didn’t change how she felt about Rhiannon as a friend, but she didn’t quite know how to deal with the revelation. Maggie had stopped believing in magick and fairytales a long time ago.

Still, she’d gone along with the other two women when they wanted to perform a simple candle-magick ceremony out in Rhiannon’s backyard. They’d anointed red candles with rose oil, both symbolic of passion. Then they’d placed them on a flat stone, lit the wicks and raised their arms in the air with the fingers touching, forming a circle around the flickering candles.

Maggie curled her arms closer around her legs, pulling them closer to her chest. She shivered as a gust of wind came off the water, seeping through her clothing.

Although she wouldn’t admit it to anyone, she’d felt the change in the air tonight, the thickening and stirring, as Rhiannon had tipped her head back and begun to chant. “Lady Moon in the sky so bright. Lend your power. Lend your might. Bring to us a love that’s true. And one that one day we won’t rue. In this time and in this hour, we three ladies ask this of thee. We ask this done and harm to none, what we have wrought here now is begun.”

For some unknown reason, Maggie could remember every word of the chant, and she knew that Rhiannon had asked for a love that’s true rather than just a lover. There was a huge difference. Not that she believed in magick, because she didn’t. Really.

Closing her eyes, she rested her head on her knees. She could almost hear her grandmother’s voice in her head, scolding her for not believing. Bride O’Neill believed in magick, often telling a much younger Maggie that intent and ritual were everything. Her grandmother had come to America from Ireland as a teenager, making this new land her home but carrying many of her beliefs and superstitions from the country of her birth.

Raising her head, Maggie lowered her feet back to the deck and pushed out of the chair. She turned her back on the ocean and went inside, closing the door firmly behind her. She walked back through the dark house and made her way to the front door, checking to make certain it was locked. Not that there was much crime in Burnt Cove, but the times were changing and it paid to be cautious. Besides which, she’d lived in a major city for too long to be able to sleep without having all her doors and windows secured.

Almost against her will, she was drawn to her purse. She opened the bag, reached in her hand and touched the smooth wax of the candle. The scent of rose oil tickled her nostrils, reminding her once again of the ritual she and her friends had performed earlier this evening. Maggie had planned to leave her candle at Rhiannon’s, but had been unable to abandon it.

She closed her fingers around the candle and held it tight in her left hand as she climbed the stairs.

Her right hand slid up the smooth banister, guiding her as she made her way upstairs. She walked across the old oak flooring and into her bedroom, drawing comfort from the familiar creaks in the wood. Flicking on the Tiffany lamp she’d bought at an estate sale, she looked around the room.

The furniture had belonged to her grandmother. It was old, handcrafted more than a hundred and fifty years ago out of solid oak. Maggie loved the bed, with its intricately carved headboard and footboard of Celtic knot work. The tall armoire, which sat against one wall, and the pair of nightstands flanking the bed were also adorned with the same carvings. A large, freestanding mirror sat in one corner of the room, roses carved into the heavy frame.

Maggie had repainted the room a cheerful yellow and bought gauzy white drapes for the two windows that faced the ocean. The oak floor was softened with an area rug done in a design of yellows, browns and greens. The comforter was also new. It was a profusion of colorful flowers, which made the room cheerful and bright.

The room was hers in every way. She’d put her stamp on it, doing it to please no one but herself.

Placing the candle on the bedside table, she stared at it for one long moment. “It’s just a candle,” she muttered.

And truly, that’s all it was. The spell they’d cast was nothing more than words. It had no power, no magick. The wind chose that moment to whip up and beat at the closed window. Maggie shivered, but briskly turned away and began to pull off her clothing.

Gathering the discarded garments, she made her way to the bathroom and dumped them into the laundry hamper. It didn’t take her long to wash her face and brush out her waist-length hair. She tossed her brush onto the bathroom vanity and reached for her nightgown that was hanging from a hook on the back of the door.

She paused, looking at her reflection in the mirror. Green eyes peered back at her. It wasn’t a bad face, just not an overly beautiful one. Like the rest of her, her face was a bit too rounded. With a smattering of freckles covering her nose and cheeks, she looked more like the girl next door than a sexy siren. She’d always felt so out of place in California among the tall, thin blonds. With her curvy body and her long red hair, she’d always stood out, and not in a good way.

Sighing, she slipped the nightgown over her head. The silky fabric slid over her body, leaving goose bumps in its wake. All that talk of sex tonight over at Rhiannon’s had reminded her of how long it had been since she’d had any. Six months since she’d tossed her ring back at her ex-fiancé, and even before that, it had been several months. That should have been her first clue that something wasn’t right in their relationship.

She’d been so busy at her job with a large advertising firm and planning the wedding that she hadn’t questioned the lack of passion in her relationship too deeply. Mostly, she hadn’t wanted to see the truth about Mitchell Michaels, the third.

She’d settled because she hadn’t wanted to be alone and because she hadn’t thought she’d get another proposal. She’d ignored his veiled hints that she should lose weight and think about dyeing her hair, or at least cutting it. She’d ignored the fact that it didn’t seem to bother either her or Mitchell that they hadn’t slept together in months. She was thirty years old and it was time to get married. God, she’d been so pathetic.

But those days were over. It had taken her long, hard months to get past the pain of the betrayal. Not only had Mitchell and Barbara betrayed her, she’d betrayed herself by settling. No more. She’d rather be alone than live with a man who didn’t love her for who she was.