Love Spell: Steamy Magical Older Man Younger Woman Romance Read online

  Love Spell

  Mia Madison

  Contents

  1. Misha

  2. Misha

  3. Misha

  4. Misha

  5. Misha

  6. Misha

  7. Misha

  8. Misha

  9. Misha

  10. Misha

  11. Alex

  12. Alex

  13. Misha

  14. Misha

  15. Misha

  16. Alex

  17. Misha

  18. Misha

  19. Misha

  20. Misha

  21. Alex

  22. Alex

  23. Alex

  24. Alex

  25. Misha

  26. Misha

  27. Alex

  28. Misha

  29. Misha

  30. Alex

  31. Misha

  32. Misha

  33. Alex

  34. Misha’s Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Mia Madison

  Chapter One

  Misha

  Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing!

  My alarm clock released it’s shrilly tinny ring, jolting me out of my sleep. I sat upright, hair disheveled, and shivered as my blanket fell off my shoulders.

  “I hate that damn alarm,” I grumbled.

  It was 5:00 AM, time for my morning walk. I pulled myself out of bed, like I did every morning, and tugged on my Nike leggings. I paired them with matching sneakers and a pullover, and headed out for the one hour walk through my apartment complex.

  Being from New York, I wouldn’t have dared to leave the house this early back home without a can of mace. But Texas was different from New York.

  I lived in Frisco, a relatively quiet northern suburb in the Dallas-Ft. Worth area. My gated complex was safe enough that I’d fallen asleep with my keys in the front door a couple of times, not realizing this until the next day. How did that happen? No idea. But it was enough to let me know that I was living in a safe, secure area.

  I emerged from my apartment with a gallon of water and earbuds in hand, my phone’s timer for an hour.

  I plugged in my buds and activated my #Fitness playlist on iTunes.

  Your man on the road, he doing promo

  You said keep our business on the low-low

  I’m just tryna get you out the friend zone

  ‘Cause you look even better than the photos…

  My head bobbed in anticipation of the hook. I loved listening to The Weeknd. “The Hills” was a perfect song for me to jam to. I often imagined myself executing a perfect dance routine to many of his songs, but mastering one to this was on my bucket list this year. That and one of his newer cuts, “Six Feet Under.”

  Walking and mentally crooning to the music, I did my best to clear my mind of current issues. It had been eight months since I had been laid off from my posh copywriting gig, five months since I’d been positive about my future…

  A little over two months since I’d heard from him.

  I thought about him everyday, even though I didn’t want to. I knew better than to care about a man who treated me like a hit and run, but I promise I had good reason to.

  While no man should ever have my heart so easily, it would be lying to pretend he hadn’t stolen a piece of my soul when he’d left.

  I reveled in the mysterious energy of the breezy January morning. Getting up before the sun allowed me to experience the best of both worlds, the beauty of darkness, and the first cracks of sunlight at dawn.

  My energy levels were highest in the morning, so getting into this routine helped me jumpstart my metabolism, and get a headstart on my day. When I was in my element, I’d have most of my tasks done by 12 Noon.

  I looked at all the cars filling up the parking spots in the complex. Many of them belonged to units with couples. I didn’t know many of my neighbors, but almost everyone I’d met lived with a spouse or partner, save for some of the senior citizens.

  Every one of those family friendly cars reminded me of the sharp contrast in my own single chick’s Camaro. Unlike everyone else around me, who seemed to be swarming in stability and success, I was very alone, and struggling to find my niche in life.

  Making matters worse, it was mid-January. I was twenty-six. Thirty would knock on my door in a few years. My birthday was Valentine’s Day, just a few weeks away. I was terrified of waking up on that love-filled, romantic holiday with the horrible realization that I failed at life and would be broke, alone, and miserable.

  Chapter Two

  Misha

  Life wasn’t supposed to be this way. I listened to my parents’ wisdom. I followed all the rules - the “go to school, get good grades, a get a great job with benefits” credo.

  I also played it safe financially. I attended an affordable community college before transferring to a real university, where I got my degree in Marketing with a minor in Communications.

  Marketing was a big field that promised stability, creativity, and lots of Madison Avenue money - that is, if you can handle the headache that came with the territory.

  Despite all the time I spent working on Madison Avenue, I hated the scummy feel of big ad agencies, and their hectic schedule.

  Success required late nights, early mornings, and endless weekend overtime. Work paid handsomely but failed to feed my soul. When I was forced to miss too many important family events due to work, I abruptly handed in my two-week notice upon completion of the deadline.

  I tried finding work at smaller creative agencies, but I couldn’t seem to get my foot in the door. I was highly overqualified, and my salary expectations didn’t mesh well with their budgets.

  I could go back to Madison Avenue, or try something new, and completely change my scenery. I decided on the latter.

  Yes, I’m a New York girl through and through. But the Big Apple was stressful. Everyone was in a rush. Everything was due ten minutes ago. And dating was extremely competitive, especially since I’d started packing on the pounds from too much takeout while sitting ass in chair over deadlines.

  My cousin Vanessa promised my a job and a fresh start if I really wanted to kick the venomous pace of the Big Apple. She lived in Texas, and while it was far away, it was something different. She warned me about the pay in advance,

  “It’s only $10 an hour, but it’s something to get you started while you look for work. You can stay with me while you work this out.”

  $10 was not a great starting point when you’re used to $65,000 or higher, but I needed to get real about whether I’d rather fret over coins or explore a new environment.

  Seventy-two hours later, I was nestled in my cousin’s spare bedroom, surrounded by suitcases on an air mattress.

  For the first three months in Dallas, I worked at a call center. The job was enough to stabilize me while I leveraged my contacts and hustled.

  I had several interviews that wasted my time, and some that insulted my intelligence. I was blessed to finally get hired as a content writer for a small agency in Plano.

  Crazy 8 was a boutique firm in Plano, just north of Dallas. The company’s brand wasn’t nationally recognized, but their high-level relationships with regional Fortune 500 directors was something boutique agencies could only dream of experiencing.

  I was hired part time, however the director loved my work. I was full time with a salary by the end of my first week.

  Crazy 8’s $50,000 salary was quaint compared to what I could make in New York, but I didn’t care. It was more than I made at the call center, and I loved the experience of working in a small firm where my voice m
attered.

  Crazy 8’s energy was amazing too. Everyone was so diverse, friendly, and creative — there were never any limits to our concepts.

  In addition to weekly catering, the company offered a vending machine with assorted snacks and a fully stocked wine cabinet. There was never any reason to leave if you were knee deep in a task, which made it easy to channel energy and work hard.

  Best of all, they promoted work-life balance, which was important for me. There were times we’d stop working just to sit together in our lounge to discuss life and bond with one another.

  There was only one downside: the director, Raymond, was a self-proclaimed provocateur. He was British, arrogant, and completely full of himself.

  Ray’s over-the-top personality and quick wit was edgy and inspiring, but there was a time and place for everything. We learned the hard way.

  He had one too many pissing contests with the new chair of the firm’s biggest clients, and our contract was abruptly terminated one summer afternoon. Everyone was immediately laid off.

  I was never one to cry, but I couldn’t hold back the tears as I broke down on the phone with my mother. All I could think about was how hard it was to find this job. My expenses were going to eat me alive if I didn’t find something soon.

  “I’m sorry baby,” my mother said, doing her best to soothe me. I’m sure she could feel my heart break through the phone. “Just remember, God is in control and He has a plan for everything.”

  I tried to think positively, but at that point, all I could think was Why?

  Chapter Three

  Misha

  God is in control.

  Mother’s words echoed in my head as I walked to my apartment door. My morning walk was completed, however the darkness of the sky hadn’t lifted one bit.

  It was almost 6:15 AM. I had plenty of time left in the day. I didn’t have to work until 1 PM.

  Turning on the water in the tub, I poured a cupful of White Paradise bath salts under the steaming faucet, and added extra Epsom salt.

  I grabbed one of my white candles from the kitchen counter, and turned on some soothing music from a meditation playlist on YouTube.

  I loved my apartment. It didn’t have all the latest décor, but it was outfitted with stainless steel appliances, wood laminate flooring, and gorgeous granite counters in the kitchen and bath.

  My place was also ground floor, faced a 26 acre golf course, which was convenient should I ever decide to try my hand at the sport, and it had something that no other place I’d ever lived had: energy.

  This place possessed some of the most amazing energy I’d ever experienced. It was utterly priceless, and kept me sane when things were crazy.

  Talking about energy makes me sound all New Age and woo, but it was true. Over the past year, I’d become more acquainted with New Age spiritual practices to manage my stress. I found some of the concepts practical and learned to be mindful of myself, my energy, and my environment. I also created self-care rituals to ensure my wellness.

  Meditative baths to soothe and restore my energy were one of them. The particular bath I drew this morning was to detoxify from negative energy.

  I stepped gingerly into the tub, catching my breath because the water was hotter than I expected. I adjusted to the temperature when my second foot sunk in, and took a deep breath as I eased my body down.

  Hot water cocooned me, coaxing my muscles to relax as I leaned back onto my bath pillow and closed my eyes.

  My weekly bath was my personal time to unplug from life and just be. I was a chronic overanalyzer, especially when I was stressed. Slipping away to the privacy of my hot tub, surrounded by bubbles, music, candles and whatever fragrant concoctions came in my bath bombs, diffused my tension, reset my energy levels, and retain my focus.

  Eyes closed, I basked in the ambience of the bathroom’s dark, sensual atmosphere. Steamy vapors of vanilla sugar, gardenia, and white musk swirled in candlelight, wafting into my nostrils and lulling me to relax.

  I attempted to clear my mind and zone into a meditative state, but my mother’s words, “God is in control,” overrode my thoughts. I heard her on instant repeat, like a bad record.

  Entrenched in bitterness, I questioned her statement.

  If God was in control, why was I struggling so much? Why was life soooooo fucked up?

  Was God really a man?

  If so, maybe that was the problem. Men had given me nothing but trouble.

  Especially Alex.

  Chapter Four

  Misha

  Alex and I connected on a dating site. He was a welcome change from the men I’d met at the time.

  My love life was just as jacked up as my career. Dating in Texas was a little easier than it was in New York. There was so much for me to explore in the area, and the men were different. They were more welcoming of my curves, which expanded from a size six to a sixteen.

  Despite this, I still failed to find a man I was truly compatible with. Many were polite and chivalrous, but our connection would be shallow, and largely based on the desire to not be lonely on Saturday night. That wasn’t enough for me. I was a creative, spiritual soul who craved a wild, passionate connection.

  Alex sent a message one evening after I’d come home from a particularly boring date. I lay in bed thinking of ways to stop seeing the guy who’d been taking me out when I scrolled to see his message.

  “You’re beautiful. I’m intrigued.”

  Not the most original, but it was enough for me to check him out. His profile stated he was 42 years old, worked in finance, and was ready to settle down.

  At 26, I was open to an older man. Older men were hot, decisive, and had the security, stability, and maturity I craved at this stage in life. While men my age were still playing the field, and potentially dating women in college, I was focused on finding a man who had been there, done that, and didn’t need to play musical chairs with my heart.

  “Thank you…” I replied, adding a wink emoticon. I studied his profile pictures. He owned the most striking hazel eyes with an intense, piercing gaze.

  He was nicely built too, with broad shoulders, and a stature that hinted toward a nice set of abs. He was 5’10,” so he wasn’t tall, but he was still tall enough to look up at and hug on.

  I was intensely private. Open, endless conversations were a waste of time for me, especially if a connection isn’t present. But Alex and I had major chemistry. He pulled me into great conversations and insisted on getting to know me before anything else.

  “I don’t want to waste my time with someone who’s not on the same level as me,” he demanded. “Before I give my heart, my mind, and my body, I have to make sure we’re on the same page.”

  I opened up to Alex more than I ever opened up to anyone else, and honestly more than I ever wanted to. I tried to be coy and short, protecting myself from giving away too much of my truth. Giving away too much was never in my plans.

  But before long, Alex knew everything about me. He probed me about my hopes and dreams. He asked about my desire for a relationship, and I revealed my desire to settle down and get married. He asked about starting a family, and I confessed that I wanted two children, a boy and a girl.

  He even got answers about me regarding my career, which embarrassed me most of all. I shared a mild history of things with Crazy 8, and added that I wasn’t where I wanted to be, but would begin looking to build my copywriting business at the beginning of the year, after the holiday season ended.

  “Owning my own business would be ideal. I’d love to have complete control over my life before I have my first child,” I said. “I’d be married, settled, and stable. I don’t want anyone else telling me when I can and cannot spend time with my kids. I shouldn’t need permission to spend the day with my son if he gets the flu, or to attend my little girl’s first dance recital.”

  “You’d make an awesome mommy,” he told me. “That’s the kind of woman I want for my children.”

  I don’t know
what it was, but I allowed myself to be sucked into our conversations. We talked intimately for weeks before meeting.

  Unlike most men who were focused on the basics and bombarded my with requests for pictures, Alex probed my mind, praised my ambition, and met my aspirations with a few of his own.

  Alex also wanted a family, and said his desire was even stronger after his mother’s passing. He was the CFO for his uncle’s property management company in Shreveport, but was given flexibility to work from home in Dallas. He only need to make trips to the office once or twice a month. He considered running his own business, but didn’t want to take any risks in his career.

  If there was one thing Alex seemed hesitant on, it was our age. Being 26 didn’t bother him; he thought being 42 bothered me.

  “We’ve got a 16 year age difference,” he asked. “Does my age bother you?”

  “Not at all. You’re sexy and distinguished, experienced. If anything, it turns me on because I know you’re ready for something real.”

  I blushed at my honesty. I was never this honest. But I was serious. Alex was sexy. He had dark hair and smoldering features with sharp eyes. If he hadn’t sent me so many pictures, and even some video, I would have assumed he was a catfish.

  “I just don’t want you to get turned off because I’m not young. I’m in my 40s and you’ve got a whole life ahead of you. I don’t want to get in the way of that.”

  “Never. As long as you’re honest about what you desire, we’ll be fine.” I decided to put him on the spot as well. “Does my size bother you? I’m a big girl, and I can take it. I’m working out for me, but I’m growing comfortable with my size. If I’m never a size six again, I’m okay. I just don’t want to date anyone who needs me to lose weight or else.”

  I was already working out, but I decided I wasn’t going to kill myself to look like a supermodel. I was a grown woman, curvy and confident, with full breasts and wide hips. Curvy was as curvy does, no matter what weight it was.