“Fuck me. I’m going to be a father… again! Oh my god, Bailey!” The frantic excitement bubbles over inside him and when he crushes me to his chest, I can’t help but smile, listening to the loud thump of his heart beneath my ear.
It all started with a kiss but turned into so much more.
Our love story might be a complicated one, but it’s ours, and it’s real.
* * *
THE END
J.L. Beck and C. Hallman are an international bestselling author duo who write contemporary and dark romance.
* * *
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LOVE SPELL
M.A. FOSTER
Copyright © 2019 by M.A. Foster All rights reserved.
Cover design: Andrea at Bookend Designs
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy.
LOVE SPELL
Five years ago, I was a vibrant, outgoing college girl with the world in the palm of my hand. Until one night, when people I trusted turned on me, leaving me bloody and broken.
I wasn’t safe.
My mother sent me to Clara, an old family friend and my saving grace.
With her magic teas and clairvoyance, she revealed the evil still lurking in the shadows ready to strike. So she did something unheard of—she changed my destiny.
Enter Levi Martinez with his beautiful blue eyes and gruff exterior.
He was gorgeous.
He was intense.
And he would be the one to save me.
Prologue
Five years ago…
Hazel
The wailing of the siren fades to a hum as the ambulance rolls to a stop outside the emergency room doors of University Hospital. The back doors are pushed open, and chaos erupts around me. My body jostles from side to side as the paramedics lower the stretcher to the ground.
“Twenty-year-old female sustained a head injury from a fall down a set of concrete steps. Witnesses from the party said they’d seen her drinking, but no one actually saw her fall.”
I groan in protest. Because I was pushed.
“What’s her name?” a male voice asks.
“Hazel Young,” a deep, familiar voice replies.
That voice. A paralyzing dose of fear zips up my spine and through my limbs. If he’s here, then she’s probably here, too.
“Here’s her phone,” another familiar voice adds, this one female.
It’s her. Oh God.
“Thank you,” the first male voice says. “You can hang out in the waiting room.”
“Uh… okay, thanks.”
The automatic doors open with a swish, and then I’m being wheeled away. Away from them. I’m taken through another set of doors before we come to a stop.
“Hazel Young, twenty years old, head injury, concussion, broken wrist, possible rib fracture,” the first male voice explains.
“Hazel, I’m Dr. Bailey. Can you hear me?”
“Yes,” I croak.
“Can you open your eyes for me?”
I will my eyes open, but they’re so heavy. When I finally crack them, I flinch against the bright light.
“Can you tell me what day it is?”
“Friday. Where’s my phone? I want my mom. Please call my mom,” I plead.
“I’ll call her, honey,” a warm feminine voice assures me. “Can you give me the password on your phone?”
“Two-five-eight-zero.”
“Thank you, honey. I’m gonna step out and give her a call.”
“Thank you.”
“Hazel, do you remember what happened tonight?” Dr. Bailey asks.
“They hurt me,” I cry out.
“Who hurt you?”
“All of them.”
The rain is coming down sideways, pelting me in the side of the head, plastering my thick honey-colored hair to my face and soaking through my jeans. ‘The Mystikal Tea Room’ is carved into the wooden sign hanging from the metal rafters supporting the balcony just above my head. The faded pink, two-story building is situated between a café and a place claiming to have the best gumbo in New Orleans. The sign on the door says it’s closed, but the night is just beginning for others. People are dashing down the sidewalk, dodging puddles and disappearing inside the bars lined up and down both sides of the street.
Next to the door is a sign that reads ‘Fortune Teller’ at the top with an open palm just below it next to the words ‘palm reading, tarot card, and tea leaf available.’ I press the doorbell just below the sign and burrow into my lightweight jacket, gripping tightly to the handle of my suitcase and shifting on my feet. Several minutes tick by before the door swings open and a small, thin, dark-skinned woman appears in the doorway behind the screened door. A colorful printed scarf is wrapped around her head, and large gold hoops hang from her ears. She’s just as my mother described.
“Miss Clara?” I ask.
She offers me a kind smile. “You must be Hazel,” she says, pushing open the screened door. “Come in, child. You’re soaked.”
Gripping the handle of my suitcase, I wheel it behind me as I step inside onto the wood floors and shiver against the cool air.
Clara winces. “Let me get you some towels,” she offers as she scurries off.
I use that moment to take in her space. On one side of the room is a long counter lined with coffee machines, carafes, and mugs. Two bistro tables are arranged in front of it. A large painting of a pottery vase hangs on the wall above the counter, and below the counter are shelves lined with an assortment of coffees, teas, and novelty mugs.
On the other side of the room is a sitting area with a lavender sofa flanked by two light brown leather chairs, a small wooden coffee table situated between them. The wall behind the sofa is lined with bookshelves filled to the brim with books. In the middle of the room is a three-tiered shelf stocked with essential oils, candles, and more novelty mugs.
A moment later, Clara returns with a couple of towels, stretching one out on the wood floor. Removing my jacket and shoes, I place them on the towel and use another to dry my hair and face before wiping the outside of my suitcase.