Over Hexed Read online

  For Audrey Sharpe, because if you ever deserved

  exclusive billing on the dedication page of a book,

  this would be the one! Thank you for teaching me

  to believe in magic

  Praise for the Novels of Vicki Lewis Thompson

  ‘‘A sharp, sassy, sexy read. Stranded on a desert island? I hope you’ve got this book in your beach bag.’’

  —Jayne Ann Krentz

  ‘‘Wildly sexy . . . a full complement of oddball characters and sparkles with sassy humor.’’

  —Library Journal

  ‘‘A riotous cast of colorful characters . . . fills the pages with hilarious situations and hot, creative sex.’’

  —Booklist

  ‘‘Smart, spunky, and delightfully over-the-top.’’

  —Publishers Weekly

  ‘‘[A] lighthearted and frisky tale of discovery between two engaging people.’’ —The Oakland Press (MI)

  ‘‘Delightfully eccentric . . . humor, mystical ingredients, and plenty of fun . . . a winning tale.’’

  —The Best Reviews

  ‘‘A funny and thrilling ride!’’

  —Romance Reviews Today

  ‘‘A hilarious romp.’’ —Romance Junkies

  ‘‘Extremely sexy... over-the-top... sparkling.’’

  —Rendez vous

  ‘‘A whole new dimension in laughter. A big... BRAVO!’’ —A Romance Review

  ‘‘A delightful tale... fine romantic suspense.’’

  —Midwest Book Review

  ONYX

  Published by New American Library, a division of

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  First published by Onyx, an imprint of New American Library,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  First Printing, October 2007

  Copyright © Vicki Lewis Thompson, 2007

  All rights reserved

  REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA

  Printed in the United States of America

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

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  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  From the beginning, this story has been touched by magic. The premise grew from a breakfast conversation in Sedona with my most excellent writing buddies, Rhonda Nelson and Jennifer LaBrecque. It sprang to full bloom with the support of my savvy agents at Trident Media Group. Many thanks to Robert Gottlieb for encouraging my new direction and to Jenny Bent for invaluable guidance and counsel. To my delight, the concept found a nurturing home with Claire Zion at New American Library. Claire, it’s been a pleasure. Thank you all for making this a charmed experience!

  Prologue

  ‘‘For the crime of causing irreparable sexual mischief through magic, I hereby banish the defendants, Dorcas and Ambrose Lowell, to Big Knob, Indiana, until such time as they straighten out the dragon living there. So mote it be.’’

  Dorcas lifted her head and looked at Cyril, the white-robed wizard who was about to ruin her life. ‘‘Cyril, are we talking about that dragon named George?’’

  ‘‘Yes, we are.’’

  ‘‘But they say he’s ADD!’’

  Cyril gazed down at her. ‘‘There’s no medical evidence of that.’’

  ‘‘Whatever. Nobody’s been able to do a thing with George. We’ll be stuck in that hick town, and you know it.’’

  Ambrose nudged her. Defendants weren’t supposed to speak during sentencing, let alone carry on a debate with the Grand High Wizard.

  ‘‘But it’s not fair,’’ she muttered to her husband.

  ‘‘Just accept it,’’ he murmured. ‘‘Or it might get worse.’’

  She didn’t see how. And they hadn’t screwed up that badly. For some reason, Cyril was trying to make an example of them, probably because the plaintiff, Thaddeus Hedgehump, was his brother-in-law.

  Cyril gave her a stern look. ‘‘You’re in no position to complain, Dorcas. Thanks to your untested potion, the plaintiff becomes aroused by any woman wearing support hose, not just his wife, as he requested. Restitution must be made.’’

  ‘‘At least he can get it up now!’’ Dorcas felt completely unappreciated. ‘‘Before we came along, he was limp as a—’’

  Ambrose nudged her again, harder this time. ‘‘We understand, Your Honor.’’

  ‘‘Good. Your belongings have been loaded onto a moving van, and the bailiff has your tickets for Indianapolis. We’ve arranged for a driver to take you from Indianapolis to Big Knob.’’

  ‘‘What about Sabrina?’’ Dorcas wasn’t going anywhere without her cat.

  ‘‘Sabrina will travel with you on the plane. When you have something to report regarding George, you know where to find me. Court adjourned.’’ With a sharp rap of his jewel-encrusted gavel, Cyril ended the trial.

  Chapter 1

  ‘‘I’m looking for an old-fashioned screw.’’ Sean Madigan knew he was in trouble as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

  Heather, the blond morning clerk at Big Knob Hardware and Camping Supplies, swooped into his personal space. ‘‘I can help you with that.’’ Her double Ds brushed the front of his leather jacket.

  Sean stepped back and cleared his throat. Better to pretend he didn’t know what she was thinking. ‘‘It’s longer than normal.’’

  ‘‘I have no doubt.’’

  Sheesh, he couldn’t seem to say anything right. ‘‘About this length.’’ He held his thumb and forefinger approximately five inches apart.

  ‘‘Sean, don’t underestimate yourself. According to the grapevine, it’s much longer.’’ As Heather moved in again, her perfume hit hi
m like a blast of Mace. ‘‘No one’s here but me. And forget the old-fashioned part, hon. Ever done it on Astroturf? Or cork?’’

  ‘‘No.’’ Sean backed up some more and found himself trapped against the reels of ropes and chains. ‘‘Seriously, Heather, I’m not interested. I just came in here for—’’

  ‘‘Baby, you work too hard, always wearing that sexy tool belt, always hammering something.’’ Her blue eyes burned with lust. ‘‘I’d love to get nailed.’’

  ‘‘We’re in the middle of the hardware store.’’

  ‘‘I know. Think of the possibilities. How about a little bondage action? I can tie you or you can tie me. Whichever turns you on.’’

  He could tell her that nothing turned him on these days, but she wouldn’t believe him. Nobody would. Women craved him and guys envied him. They had no clue the hell he endured with the catcalls, the groping, the leers.

  It had been like this since puberty. In Big Knob, Indiana, population 947, single guys were at a premium to begin with, so a green-eyed Irishman who looked like Sean could name his price.

  As a teenager he’d loved the attention. Nonstop boinking was perfect when you were eighteen. Ten years later, he could have any available woman in town and probably a few who weren’t, but he was tired of their aggressive behavior, so pushy, so horny. Unfortunately, none of the women in town seemed to notice that he was no longer interested in sampling what they had to offer.

  At the moment all he cared about was finishing the renovation of Calvin Gilmore’s house. Once Calvin paid him for that, Sean would have almost enough to make a down payment on his childhood home. One more job and he’d be ready to fulfill his dream and buy the dilapidated old Victorian and the acreage that surrounded it, assuming he could locate the owner.

  ‘‘They say you’re saving yourself for someone special, someone who’ll keep you warm in that big old house you have your eye on.’’ Heather moistened her lips. ‘‘Well, here I am, sugar.’’ Without warning she grabbed the zipper on his fly and yanked.

  Sean caught her wrist before she could fondle his privates. ‘‘I said no.’’ He hated to push a woman, but she gave him no choice. Shoving her aside, he left the hardware store, zipping his fly as he went.

  ‘‘You’re such a tease, Sean Madigan,’’ she called after him. ‘‘But you don’t fool me. Those bedroom eyes say you want me, baby. You want me bad!’’

  Bedroom eyes. He’d been accused of having bedroom eyes for years, and he’d never figured out what the hell that meant.

  Once safely outside the hardware store, he turned up his coat collar against the biting November wind and glanced at the town’s most obvious landmark: a chunk of granite that jutted 192 feet into the wintry sky. Rising from the forest on the northeast side of town, the prominent rock dominated the landscape. No wonder it had inspired the pioneers to name this place Big Knob.

  Southwest of town nestled Deep Lake, also named by the pioneers. In the early 1800s, sexual symbolism hadn’t been an appropriate topic of conversation. In some Big Knob households, it still wasn’t.

  But late at night, while enjoying a beer in the Big Knobian, some guys liked to speculate that if Big Knob ever buried itself in Deep Lake, the end of the world was at hand. Sean had always wondered if the combination of Big Knob and Deep Lake had a subconscious effect on the people in town, increasing their focus on sex.

  Personally, he could testify that the women seemed quite focused on that topic, and they concentrated the bulk of their sexual interest on Sean. He would give anything to be less of a target.

  For instance, instead of feeling compelled to jump in his old truck and leave, he’d love to grab a cup of coffee at the Hob Knob Diner. He’d appreciate the caffeine jolt if he could manage to order without being waylaid.

  No such luck. Francine Edgerton, owner of the Bob and Weave Hair Salon, came bouncing toward him, her multicolored hair dancing in the breeze. ‘‘Sean, you cutie patootie. Let me buy you a cuppa, cuppa, hubba, hubba.’’ She closed one eye in a suggestive wink.

  ‘‘Thanks, Francine, but I can’t. I’m on my way back to the Gilmores’. Job’s almost done, and I—’’

  ‘‘Don’t be silly.’’ She hooked her arm through his and tugged him in the direction of the diner. ‘‘Come play footsie with me under the table.’’

  ‘‘Why, if it isn’t Sean Madigan.’’ A low female voice sounded in his left ear.

  He turned. ‘‘Hi, Bet.’’

  ‘‘Hi, yourself.’’ She fluffed her bottle red hair and batted her fake eyelashes. Then she pinched his butt.

  ‘‘Hey!’’

  ‘‘Hey, yourself.’’ She laughed as she grabbed his other arm. ‘‘Come on, Francine. Let’s share him.’’

  Francine blew out an impatient breath. ‘‘Look, Bet, I realize you’re a good customer and all, but I saw him first.’’

  Sean held his ground. ‘‘As I keep saying, I don’t have time for coffee.’’ But how to escape? Aha. Dorcas and Ambrose Lowell, the new couple in town, were walking in this direction.

  From his first glimpse of them, when they’d moved into the old Harrison place six weeks ago, Sean had wondered why they’d picked Big Knob. It was a nice enough town, all the lecherous women aside, but it wasn’t the sort of location where you’d expect to find an attractive and fit middle-aged couple who looked like they’d stepped out of a Ralph Lauren commercial.

  Today they both wore belted leather jackets and designer jeans. Sean pictured them strolling the wharf in San Francisco. Yet here they were in Big Knob.

  Beside him, Francine stiffened. ‘‘Dorcas goes out of town for her hair,’’ she muttered. ‘‘Too good for the Bob and Weave.’’

  ‘‘She says she does it herself,’’ Bet said. ‘‘His, too.’’

  ‘‘Yeah, and I’m Angelina Jolie. Nobody gets that natural brunette look from over-the-counter kits.’’

  Sean made use of the distraction to yank his arms free. ‘‘Excuse me,’’ he said to Francine and Bet. ‘‘I need to discuss something with the Lowells.’’ Then he said the first thing that came to mind, ‘‘They have a problem with their porch.’’

  He had no idea if their porch needed work or not. But the house was near the lake, which meant it was subject to damp fog most evenings. The porch might need work.

  Both Francine and Bet backed off, because even they wouldn’t stand in the way of a business opportunity, especially if the potential customers looked rich.

  ‘‘I’ll see you later, then,’’ Francine said. ‘‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, which leaves you plenty of room to maneuver.’’

  ‘‘Francine, you’re scaring the poor boy,’’ Bet said. ‘‘Listen, Sean, I’ll be up late tonight if you want to stop by. I make a great hot toddy.’’

  Sean gave them each a wave and jogged down the sidewalk toward Dorcas and Ambrose. ‘‘I’m glad I ran into you. I wanted to discuss your front porch.’’

  ‘‘You did?’’ Ambrose looked amused.

  ‘‘Is this really about the porch?’’ Dorcas smiled at him. ‘‘Or is it that you need rescuing?’’

  ‘‘A little of both. Listen, I didn’t mean to interrupt whatever you were doing, but—’’

  ‘‘Coincidentally, we were on our way to the hardware store,’’ Ambrose said. ‘‘You must be psychic, because we just noticed a couple of loose boards on the front porch, and some warping going on. I wanted to fix that before the first snow.’’

  ‘‘Seriously?’’ This was kind of freaky.

  ‘‘Seriously,’’ Dorcas said, and turned to her husband. ‘‘Unless you have your heart set on home repair, what do you say we hire Sean to do it for us?’’

  ‘‘Works for me. Let’s take him back to our place so he can check out the job.’’ Ambrose glanced at Sean. ‘‘Unless you have something else to do right now?’’

  ‘‘Nothing that can’t wait.’’ Sean had left his old truck parked in front of the hardware store, but he’d walk back and get it
later, sometime when Heather was busy with a customer and wouldn’t notice him.

  ‘‘Then let’s go.’’ Ambrose turned back, taking Dorcas’s hand as they started down the street.

  The sidewalk was only wide enough for two, so Sean followed behind. Holding hands in public was another thing that made the Lowells stand out from your average Big Knobian. Someone had even seen them French kissing in broad daylight. They acted like teenagers, which many in the town thought ridiculous for a couple in their fifties.

  The Harrisons’ place, or what was now the Lowells’ place, was at the far end of Fifth Street. The town’s first residents, Ebenezer and Isadora Mather, had laid out the town’s main streets in the shape of a five-pointed star. Legend had it that Ebenezer had intended the layout as a tribute to his wife, whom he called his guiding star.

  Because of the shape created by these five streets, Big Knob boasted a town ‘‘square’’ with one extra side. Everyone still called it a square even though it wasn’t. Businesses lined the square, and a five-sided gazebo in the middle was flanked by a life-sized statue of Isadora, a true heroine who had selflessly nursed the pioneers through a bout of smallpox. In another week or so, the gazebo would be decorated for the Christmas season.

  ‘‘Hey, Sean!’’ Denise Woolrich ran coatless out of the Big Knob Realty office on the corner of Fifth and Third. ‘‘I think I’ve tracked down the owner of your family’s old property!’’

  ‘‘Are you sure?’’ Sean had his doubts. He thought Denise might be drawing out the title search so she had a better chance of seducing him.

  ‘‘This is it. I can feel it. Oh, hi, Mr. and Mrs. Lowell.’’

  ‘‘Hello, Denise.’’ Dorcas gave her the once-over.

  Sean could imagine what a classy woman like Dorcas was thinking as she looked at Denise. Her red sweater was so tight it was in danger of unraveling any minute.

  Eyes bright, Denise stepped in close and moistened her lips as she gazed up at him. ‘‘You need to come into my office, Sean.’’