If she hadn't been human, Ivy Greene would have been his a thousand times over by now. She was the star of his every fantasy, and every time he got near her, his hands ached to tangle in her honey gold hair, or to grab that generous butt of hers.
Or maybe both. One hand in her hair, one on her ass. His bear certainly liked the idea, jabbing at him with insistent paws to hurry the fuck up and take her.
Uriah loved nothing more than to watch her hips sway back and forth as she danced around the garden center on her long legs, imagining his fist wrapped around the long tail of her braid that was as thick as his wrist, catching her as she flitted past him in those damn cut-offs.
The soft, worn denim would split like wet paper in his grip, revealing what he was sure were practical cotton panties. He dreamed about nuzzling his cheeks across the gently rounded swell of her belly, his fingers meeting around her nipped-in waist as he held her steady.
Her breasts were the perfect size, meant to fit in his palms, and more times than he could count, he'd had to bite into his lips to keep from licking them whenever he saw her nipples pebble beneath her cute little tank tops. The hollow of her neck, where her throat gave way to her shoulders, he wanted his mouth there. Hell, he wanted his mouth all over her.
Especially her lips. Her big, pouty, kissable lips. Almost too big for her heart-shaped face, but perfect nonetheless. Even her nose was cute—an elegant slope giving way to a sassy upturned tip.
It made her look like she was perpetually involved in some kind of mischief. The smattering of adorable freckles splashed across the bridge and cheeks nearly did him in, and to his constant delight, she never tried to hide them beneath layers of make-up.
Her eyes... gods above he could drown in her eyes, clear and sparkling green, like Depression-era glass. He loved listening to her talk, how she waved her long-fingered hands around when she got excited about something, how she laughed like she didn't have a care in the world.
He'd never been a big talker, but fuck, he could probably have popped off a few sappy-ass poems about the alluring human.
“How many bags are you getting?” she suddenly shouted, and he looked up to see her leaning forward on the register table, her eyes fixed firmly on his ass.
Uriah shuddered, already struggling with a monster erection, feeling her eyes on him like a tangible caress. “Eighty-four.”
He could see her brows shoot up in surprise, then slam down in concern. Ivy was so cute when she frowned like that, “I can get the fork-lift—”
“No!” he hollered, honestly wondering if he should go over there and make sure she ate the entire sandwich.
“You sure?” Ivy pressed, reaching up to hook a loose strand of her golden hair behind her ear, the green tendrils of ivy tattooed around her wrist catching his eye.
Pretty, his bear rumbled. Let's lick it. Lick her whole body.
Uriah was tempted, so damn tempted. “Woman, just eat!”
Uriah heard her huff and rip open the paper bag. The sound of her happy sigh as she tucked in was a shot of pure satisfaction.
He got half the dirt he needed loaded up before the sound of a car reached his ears, and Uriah knew if he didn't get to the front of the shop first, Ivy would abandon her food in favor of being a good employee.
The two women hadn't even fully climbed out of their vehicle before the feeling of ants marching up and down his spine alerted him to their identities.
The two were complete opposites; the first one dressed in unrelieved black with an enormous floppy black hat shading her pale face. Her hair was done in that faded style that seemed to be in fashion, black on top that bled to pale gray at the ends. Her lips were painted a sinister dark red, and she was wearing sunglasses shaped like bat wings.
She wasn't even trying to hide the fact she was a witch.
The second one had cotton-candy pink hair, done up in two messy buns on top of her head, the color clashing violently with her obnoxiously yellow crop top and flowery teal skirt.
“Well, aren't you the sexy specimen,” the colorful one purred, tilting her head to the side with a playful smirk. “Haven't I seen you around town?”
The Gothic one lifted a solid black fingernail and tipped down her bat glasses to peer at him curiously. “I sure have. Yum.”
Between the two of them, they somehow managed to make him feel like a prey animal. It was never a good idea to piss off a witch, so he did his level best to be polite. “You two out of Eye of Newt or something?”
Ivy's laugh wrapped around him like a sensual hug. “I make sure my girls stay flush in their potion ingredients. What brings you by?”
The Gothic one pushed her sunglasses back up, but Uriah could still sense the narrowing of her eyes as she focused on Ivy. “My last client came in quite flustered and told me all about some piece of shit who attempted to humiliate my sister.
“I believe he even went so far as to tell her she looked like a whore and implied he wouldn't be giving her the wages he owed her. Juliet and I came to offer our services.”
“I voted for disembowelment or toadification,” said Juliet, gleefully raising her hand as proof of her support.
Ivy sighed, moving in to hug each of the witches. “Thanks for the back-up, Kerrigan, but it's been handled.”
A little slow on the uptake with his lungs breathing in Ivy's intoxicating scent—green growing things and fragrant flowers—Uriah just stood there like a lovesick fool until the Gothic one's words penetrated the haze of pheromones.
“Wait, sister?”
Ivy shrugged when he turned to ogle her, a lick of discomfort slithering across her expression. “Maybe not by blood, but in every other way that matters. What's that look... shit. Your sleuth is anti-witch.”
Uriah shook his head slowly, unable to keep the shit-eating grin off his face. “No sleuth. Just me. You're not human.”
He meant that as a statement of victorious satisfaction, but Ivy's cheeks turned an embarrassed shade of red, and both her sister witches stepped closer with expressions that suggested they were contemplating using his carcass as a rug to decorate the floor.
“I'm done with lunch; I'll get the forklift.”
Uriah stared after Ivy, completely at a loss for what he'd done to upset her. Ivy obviously knew what he was, so she must know it was strictly forbidden for shifters and humans to mate. But she wasn't human, which was all the damn encouragement he needed to get her into the bed he'd made just for her.
“What did I say?” he asked her sisters.
Juliet crossed her arms over her eyeball-searing top, answering his question with a question of her own, “You brought Ivy food?”
He shrugged, rubbing at his chest in an effort to soothe the confused growls his bear made. “She was hungry.”
“Why'd you think Ivy was human?” Kerrigan wanted to know.
Uriah debated how best to avoid another misstep. “Witches always have that burnt incense smell around them, and magic makes my skin crawl. Ivy smells like springtime and sunlight. No heebies. I hurt her?”
He caught the two witches sharing a look, and after a moment of indecision, Kerrigan gave a lift of her shoulder. “It's an old wound that's still healing. You couldn't have known. If it's meant to be, she'll tell you about it. She likes hibiscus tea.”