I take a deep breath, reminding myself to be professional. “It depends on what kind of spell you’re casting or what kind of potion you’re making?” I end the sentence as a question, raising my eyebrows at him, hoping he’ll fill me in.

“It’s a potion,” he says reluctantly. “I really can’t say any more than that. Look, just give them to me dried.”

“All right.” If he wants to be an asshole, I don’t care how his potion works out. I come out from behind the counter and start hustling around the store, grabbing the herbs he named. We keep most of our merchandise up front on the various shelves which means technically he could get them himself. But it’s clear Mr. Tall, Dark, and High-handed is used to being waited on so I take it upon myself to get what he’s demanding.

When I turn around, I see him watching me closely. For some reason, I feel my cheeks get hot. I’m wearing jeans and a modest crew neck T-shirt but somehow it feels like those cool gray eyes can see right through my clothes. Don’t be stupid, I tell myself uneasily. As if someone like him would look at someone like you. “Um, is there anything else?” I ask, trying not to let him see that his eyes on me disturb me.

“Hmm?” He looks at me speculatively. “Oh, yes—I also need adder’s tongue, cinnamon, cedar—”

“Hang on.” I go and get the things he’s naming, collecting them easily—all except the adder’s tongue. We don’t get much call for that one and it’s stored on the highest shelf in the store. Feeling self-conscious, I stretch up on my tiptoes, trying to reach it. I can brush the red tin it’s stored in with my fingertips but I can’t quite—

All at once I realize he’s right behind me. “Allow me,” he murmurs. I can feel the heat of his big body along my spine as he reaches over my head and easily plucks the red tin of adder’s tongue from the top shelf. He isn’t actually touching me, but he’s not far from it, either.

I turn quickly to find my face just inches from his broad chest. When I look up, I’m confronted with those cool gray eyes again. He’s studying me as though I’m some kind of a bug he wants to know more about. I can feel his power, throbbing like a beating heart between us. Whatever he is, he’s one dominant son of a bitch, that’s for damn sure.

“Oh!” I try to take a step back but the shelf is in the way. I only succeed in making the various jars and tins of dried and fresh herbs jangle against each other.