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Annette Blair, NY Times & USA Today Bestseller

 

 

 

 

 

 

  THE KITCHEN WITCH

"The Kitchen Witch is one of the best romantic comedies I've ever read, bar none." —Deirdre Martin

Excerpt

It wasn’t until Logan pulled into his parking space that he realized he’d been left to fetch and carry enough luggage for a European jaunt.  He got out of the car swearing.  He’d be damned if he’d make two trips just to haul a load of Mel’s fluff. 

After several aborted attempts, he finally managed to carry everything at one time, aware that his struggle was nothing short of pigheaded.

In the garage elevator, he lost his grip on one of the bags, caught it, and wrestled the damned thing up and under his arm.  God help Mel when she got to the office, because he was going to be setting down some rock-solid rules for the future.

When the elevator opened on his floor, Logan heaved a sigh.  Almost there.  Just a hall and a half to go, he thought as he trudged on.

“Hey Hansel, where’s Gretel?”

Logan was halfway through the partitioned secretarial offices, when the wise-ass remark forced him to consider the smiles he’d been getting.  He stopped and turned in the direction from which he’d come ... and saw the trail he’d left behind.  A freaking rainbow of bras, panties, stockings, even a pair of G-string bikinis--a treasure trove of man’s favorite playthings--littered the floor behind him.  “Damn!”

Tim Kaiser stopped at the opposite end of the trail.  “Way to call a meeting, man.  Cool.  Do we get to keep the crumbs?”

“Shut up and help me pick this up.”

Six men dove for the goodies.  On second thought--  “Don’t touch!” Logan shouted. 

A cumulative groan rose from the station’s male population.

“Tim,” Logan snapped.  “Come and get this damned garment bag and take it to my office.  The rest of you, back to work.”

With more than a few wistful looks and a great deal of speculation, his eager helpers drifted away.

Retracing his steps and clearing his trail took Logan an agony of scorching minutes.  When he finally bent on his haunches to pick up the last of the crumbs, a man-skewering black merry widow, the elevator beside him opened and a pair of choice legs, feet encased in red spikes, stepped out and stopped before him, and Logan primed himself for battle.

“You kinky little devil,” said the wicked witch of the east, spiking his guns.

Nearby, a gaffer with a death wish chuckled. 

“Not a good time to push, Melody,” Logan said as he rose, juggling a brimming tapestry bag and the merry widow.

She dangled a pale gold bra before him.  “I knew you were in trouble when I saw my favorite under-wire sticking out the elevator door in day care.”

Logan snatched it from her hand and stuffed it into his breast pocket.  “Shane settle in okay?  I was worried.”

“You weren’t alone, but he’d already made a friend by the time I left.”

“Have you been crying?”

“Nah.”

“You sure he’s okay?”

Melody’s smile blossomed.  “He’s great.”

“Thank God.”  With a relieved sigh, Logan ran a hand through his hair and caught a garter in the nose.  Reminded of the spectacle he presented, he swore.

“I told you the zipper was busted.”

Logan noticed, in his peripheral vision, a curious throng hovering just out of range.  To keep them from hearing, he got up close and personal, and his body jumped to attention, aggravating him the more.  “Just hustle your sweet little ass down the hall and into the office,” he said.  “Do not say a word.  Do not pass go.  Do not collect $200.”

“Aye, aye--“

“One more word....”

Mel shut her mouth.  Lucky for her, she knew when to fold. 

Side by side, they walked, she as sedate as could be, him carrying a large bag of heavy-duty lingerie strategically placed before him.

Both of them nodded and smiled to the people they met along the way ... until Melody leaned close.  “I gotta tell you, Kilgarven, that bra in your pocket really pops with navy pinstripes, but when you trip over the garter belt you're dragging, you’re not gonna look half so dignified.”  

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© Annette Lague Blair, Last website updates: 10/12/2014 05:55 PM