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there. Especially if the client is a beautiful woman and looking to cling to the man who helped facilitate her healing.
    I closed my eyes and did the visualization of Severing The Chords and saw the disentanglement of our energetic connection begin.
    Oh Spirit…why do you tempt me so?
    I laughed.
    “What is it?” she said.
    “Private joke,” I said. “Take care, Maryka. If you feel you need to call or come back, just call me. We can talk. You’re already feeling relief and it will get better. Like any other healing it’ll take a little bit of time.”
    I watched her go. Then I gave into temptation and looked at her check. Two hundred fifty dollars. I could afford a box of cigars!
    And more sage and sweet grass.

Chapter 5
    I ran my tongue up Jolene’s spine, from the cleft of her buttocks to the deep muscled hollow above her sacrum. I tasted the sweetness of her sweat and juices, mixed with mine, when I’d rolled her onto her belly.
    “Aaaahhhhh,” she moaned. It was like the opening of a holy song.
    Jolene. The hottest woman in the world in one hundred words or less: tall, six feet barefoot though she favors heels, sleek and flat bellied, with small breasts that defy gravity, perfectly chiseled like Michelangelo on his best day would sculpt her, the palest white skin, a rich length of red hair like a scarlet wing across her back, a long muscular dancer’s back that swooped down into the glory of her waist and hips, eyes shocking blue and clear, high cheekbones and strange soulful lips—a thin upper lip curved like a bow, an obscenely full lower lip she sunk her teeth into when she thought about sex, which was often.
    She’s a Scorpio and an avatar of the Goddess in all her passion and fury. A Wiccan priestess in her own right, a practitioner of the solo Wise Woman’s path, a Master Reiki energy work and an intuitive who worked most often with the Tarot. Cool and self-possessed to the point of otherworldliness until she came to me in bed.
    I lay my cheek against her buttocks and ran my hand down the long smooth white length of her taut leg.
    “I give you a lifetime to stop that,” she said.
    “Mine,” I said.
    Deep husky laughter, so sexy and surprising in such a slender woman.
    “Caveman,” she said.
    “Always.”
    “Do you worship the Goddess, cave man?”
    “Thoroughly. Otherwise she might cut me up and strew me in the field.”
    “There’s a thought. Then I’d start over with some fresh flat-bellied boy.”
    “My belly is flat. Fairly.”
    She laughed. “It’s fine, Marius. I like men with substance. I like having some meat to hang onto.”
    Lord, Lord, Lord. I am grateful.
    She rolled onto her back, reached down and lay one long-fingered hand, nails clear and carefully polished, on my cheek. It was an infinitely gentle touch, in such contrast to her raw nature in bed. Contrast, contradiction…
    Yes. She’s a Goddess.
    And I’m lucky to service her.
    “I feel that grin,” she said. “I know what you’re thinking.”
    “This is complicated, dating a psychic. A man can’t have a single moment of private thought.”
    She laughed that deep throaty whisky laugh and raked her nails across my scalp, then tugged at my hair, loose to my shoulders after she had undone my ponytail.
    A long silence, that loving silence so essential between a man and a woman that so few couples seem to master. I love the soulfulness and ease between us in these times after our loving, in the lingering.
    It’s a fine way to spend the afternoon.
    “I’m hungry,” she said.
    I stroked my fingers over her cleft, parted the fine red hair and tasted her. “Me, too.”
    She tugged a handful of my hair. “Feed me , Cave Man. I’ll feed you later.”
    “What if I insist?”
    I felt her grin swell. “What if I deny you?”
    “Then I’d go all Cave Man on you. Mine…”
    Delighted throaty laughter. “It’s a dangerous thing to trifle with a Priestess of the Goddess.”
    “I exist only to serve. She must be