Cast a Lover's Spell

Cast a Lover's Spell

Claire Thompson

Price: $6.50


Anne Kaliner is the first mortal to resist Paul Windsor’s magic charms. Something about Anne touches Paul’s heart, speaking to a secret part of him he didn’t know existed. In a turn of the tables, the warlock finds himself falling hopelessly, absurdly in love with a mortal woman. He will stop at nothing to possess not only her body, but her heart and soul as well.


PUBLISHED BY: Romance Unbound Publishing
CATEGORIES: Paranormal, Contemporary, Erotica, Romantic Fiction
KEYWORDS: paranormal, m/f erotic romance, erotica, romance, warlock



COPYRIGHT Claire Thompson/2009

Chapter 1

Stout-bodied pigeons strutted on the flat stones of the square, bobbing their heads as they greedily pecked at bits of stale bread.

Paul Windsor moved slowly past the young woman, noting the downward cast of her head, the dark brown hair shiny but unkempt, falling in unruly curls around her shoulders. She held a bag of old bread from which she was crumbling pieces, throwing them out to the cooing birds gathering at her feet.

What’s the point? Why do I bother? It’s so hard to care. Paul paused, appearing to examine a flower as he turned his body slightly away from her. God, Greg, why did you have to die? Why did you leave me here all alone? Now I’m not only alone, I’m unemployed. Bennett was right—I don’t have what it takes anymore. The woman sighed aloud as she dispiritedly tossed more bits of bread to the clamoring birds. Paul felt the heaviness in her mind like a damp fog settled over her spirit.

He sat next to the young woman. He was intrigued by her thoughts, upon which he had eavesdropped more out of habit than a desire to know her secrets. He cocked his head very slightly toward her as he listened to her unspoken words. He couldn’t help the tiny smile that tugged at his lips as he continued to eavesdrop. Shit. Why’d he have to sit next to me? Now he’ll make stupid small talk and expect me to smile and give a damn. I wish I could just evaporate. The woman stole a sidelong glance at Paul. Don’t talk to me, you jerk! I swear to God, if you try to hit on me, I’ll deck you.

She turned her body sharply away from Paul, who was used to women turning their bodies toward him. He sent a mild receptivity spell in the young woman’s direction, a magical suggestion that made her turn slowly back toward him, her head lifting to meet his eyes.

Paul had been expecting the reaction mortal women usually gave him—the dilating pupils and the little gasp of pleased surprise as they fell under the spell of his dark smoldering stare. Paul Windsor was devastatingly handsome with a broad high brow, Roman nose, firm square jaw and full, sensuous lips. But it was his eyes that caught the heart and slipped into the fevered dreams of the women he chose.

Dark and wide, the color something between brown and black, fathomless, mesmerizing, dangerous—Paul’s eyes could captivate any mortal he chose to seduce. For Paul Windsor was no ordinary man. Paul Windsor was a warlock—one of the most powerful warlocks in the secret magic circles that permeated mortal society.

Unlike mere mortals, witches and warlocks enjoyed greatly extended life—spanning centuries rather than decades, impervious to mortal illness and disease. The more skillful and practiced in magic lore one became, the longer the lifespan. The most seasoned witches and warlocks could live close to a thousand years. Though the body aged, the process was dramatically slowed. Warlocks and witches changed their guise at will, usually adopting a shape most admired during a particular era.

Paul found no need to shift and change, preferring to keep his natural looks—the olive-toned supple skin, the even-featured classic face, the broad shoulders, strongly muscled torso and long lean legs never out of fashion. If he maintained a youthful look that belied his several hundred years on this earthly plane, who could blame him? The women he chose to amuse himself with seemed to prefer a man in his mid-thirties and this was the age he projected. He wasn’t especially vain, but he was practical.

As the woman raised her head, Paul waited for the predicted reaction, ready to bestow his slow, easy smile upon her. Instead it was he who gave the slightest involuntary gasp, a small intake of breath as he beheld the loveliest mortal he had ever seen. Her eyes were huge, almost too big for her face. They were luminous, the color of the sea, clear as glass. Her face was delicate, almost childlike, with rounded cheeks and a pointed chin. The mass of tangled curls tumbling to her shoulders added to the impression of youth. Her mouth however, with its full red lips was sensuously lush, bringing to Paul’s mind a ripe, soft peach. He resisted a sudden impulse to bite her lips, to lick them, to possess that feminine, erotic mouth.

Along with the beauty however, was pain, stark in those clear green eyes. An aura of loss seemed to hover over her. Paul released his magical hold on her, hoping she would continue to look at him, searching for the spark of desire he was so used to seeing. For a moment, just a moment, when returned to her own free will, the woman did look at him, desire clear in her eyes. Yet the moment passed as she turned away, scattering the last of her crumbs to the birds.

She stood, her face again averted, her thoughts a tangle of whispered longing and sadness. Through the tumult he detected a response—despite herself, the young woman had been attracted to the stranger next to her. He’d felt the flash of attraction zip through her mind before it was again overtaken by her self-absorbed misery.

Paul watched as she strode away, an enigma in jeans and a man’s oversized shirt. He felt a curious sense of loss as she walked away. It made no sense. She was nothing to him. A total stranger. Yet in the brief moment their eyes had locked, she had entered his being, whispering her need, arousing his desire.

He waited a moment before rising to follow her—this one would not get away.



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