Goldie held the smile a beat longer. Then her mouth wilted, and her hand dropped to clutch the blanket at her chest. A wave of heat pulsed from the ground beneath the ambulance, and she winced as it thrummed through her—a hot, hungry rhythm that tried to overwrite her own heartbeat.
What the hells was going on?
Probably a shock reaction. That was normal. Cortisol and adrenaline and proximity to death.
And Beltane. Right. Beltane. Things always got weird and wonky and liminal around this time of year. And it wasn’t like she was standing in the middle of a magically significant bonfiremound that had appeared out of nowhere while she’d been placing charm sachets designed to thin the veil. Of course not.
Any witch would have felt the thrum beneath her skin, the faint tug at the base of her spine like the land itself had a pulse and it was syncing with hers. It was just ambient magic, just the Grove Core being theatrical.
Yes. That was the obvious answer.
“Goldie?”
A voice cut through her musings. Her head jerked up, and when she saw the speaker, a true smile split her face.
“Sam? Is that you?”
Officer Sam Mathers stood a few feet away, his badge glinting and a self-writing notebook at the ready. His uniform slacks were pressed with precision, and his strong jawline was as smooth as if he had just shaved five minutes ago.
Knowing Sam’s penchant for order, Goldie wouldn’t be surprised if he’d already catalogued the entire scene in his head. That relentless neatness was why their almost-thing never took off—two dates, three years ago—but she’d always liked Sam’s calm. His cop focus. And the kissing.
Her pulse stuttered as the memory rose unbidden: his hand warm at the nape of her neck, thumb brushing just beneath her jaw as he angled her mouth to his. The way his lips pressed with controlled force, then opened, coaxing hers apart until she was shivering. His tongue had tasted of mint and bourbon, sliding against hers with a patience that nearly undid her. And when he’d pulled back to murmur her name—low, rough, like he wanted to devour her—it had felt like her knees would give way right there on his spotless front step.
Heat coiled low in her belly, sudden and feral, and her breath caught.
What thefuck?
There was a dead body not fifty feet away, and she was getting wet over a three-year-old memory of a kiss?
Goldie’s eyes dropped to Sam’s hand and caught the plain gold band gleaming on his ring finger. “Congrats,” she blurted, trying to drown out whatever the hell was pumping molten through her veins.
Sam followed her glance and gave a crooked smile. “Thanks. First anniversary last week. Baby due in October.”
Her heart gave one hollow thump. “That’s wonderful, Sam.”
“Thanks,” he said, flicking open the notebook. “You’re looking good. In spite of…” He gestured vaguely toward the ambulance, the cops, the chaos.
“I’m told I’m glowing,” she said, tossing in a reckless wink. “Might be the trauma.”
He chuckled. “May I sit?”
“Sure,” she said, shifting her knees on the bumper. “You’re here to ask the scary questions, huh?”
Sam settled beside her, all pressed lines and calm composure. “Yeah. But we can take it slow.”
A hot, liquid tremor swept down her spine, pooling low, flooding her with heat so sharp it made her shiver. It wasn’t Sam. Gods, it wasn’t Sam. It was the phrase, the suggestion, the slow, steadypulseunderneath it that seemed to hum in time with her own body.
She nodded too quickly, throat tight, while a deep, traitorous thrum gathered between her thighs, steady as a drumbeat.
“So,” Sam began. “You were the one who found the body?”
“Unfortunately.” She exhaled, crossing her legs hard and forcing herself to focus. “I was placing the charm sachets for Beltane. I got to the back side, and…”
Her voice faltered. “He looked like he was just sleeping. I thought maybe he’d passed out or… I don’t know.” Her throat cinched shut on the words.
Sam glanced up, searching her face. “Okay. Thanks, Goldie. You’re doing great.”
She gave a shaky laugh. “You’re making it sound like I’m a preschooler at the dentist.”
