Excerpt of Wicked Match by Luna Joya

“Let’s get this over with.” Prys walked toward the SUV, ready to meet the witch Senate guards who had discovered the murder scene.

The driver’s door opened, and John stepped out. Oh no. Heat prickled on her skin, sending a flush that had to be crimson-bright to her cheeks. A crime scene was not the place for an about-that-kiss convo.

He met her gaze, the look in his eyes cold and accusatory. None of the playful heat she’d seen in her London home.

“Didn’t expect to see you again so soon.” His dry tone made the greeting sound more like go away.

            Right now, she couldn’t deal with whatever problem he had. She was on the job.

At a homicide scene.

Her expertise, her emotional detachment, her magic—those were why she was here, why she mattered. She had relegated the fluttering feelings he caused to fantasies that she might run into him against someday at a black-tie affair. When she looked fabulous and could think of something to say. Not after almost twenty-four hours of no sleep and travel and a murder.

“Hi.” Bloody brilliant.

            He grinned, a quick flash that faded as quickly as it’d come—almost an involuntary reaction given the following super-serious-Senate-guard expression. Something had happened since London, something between them though she couldn’t guess what. She didn’t have to be a mind reader to see that.

“The scene?” she asked. Because the sooner she got inside, the sooner she could stop stumbling over her words.

             He ignored her question, walking to the passenger side of the Mercedes. She glanced at her best friend Bren, who got her gaping-codfish mouth under control long enough to give a “no clue” flinch of a shrug. But at least she’d moved closer in solidarity.

Prys had expected to be uncomfortable here given the circumstances. But this awkward investigation-hyped-up-on-attraction? It was a thousand times worse than what she’d been prepared for.

            John opened the door and held out a hand for an older woman.

            Make that a million times worse.

The most powerful senator in the world climbed out of the Mercedes. Prys’s chest tingled, sweat dampened her palms, and her lips twitched in the uncontrollable tremble that made most people ask if she was going to cry. She wouldn’t, but she’d give anything to rewind the last few minutes for a do-over.

            “She looks like Santa’s wife.” Bren had been anything but quiet with the not necessarily flattering description.

Now, it was officially a gazillion times worse.

            “Senator Donovan.” Prys raised her voice as though that would erase what her best friend had said. “So good to see you despite the tragic reasons.” As a Bane, she’d been trained in small talk and political pleasantries. She could fake those all day long. Except her what-the-hell levels of curiosity topped her manners for once. An anomaly that could only be explained by a handsome guard and his talk of tarts. “John, I wish you’d let us know the senator waited inside the car.”

            Senator Donovan looked to the man who’d caused all this trouble. “Oh good, you two know each other. That should make the matchmaking easier. It’s time my grandson found the right partner for alliances.”

            Matchmaking? Grandson?

No, no, no. Prys wanted to pretend she hadn’t heard the last part.

John was the Donovan’s Legacy son.

He’d lied to her. All this time. He could’ve told her since he was shopping for a wife. Before he’d shown up at her house. Before he’d walked into her study. Before he’d kissed her.