A pinch of desperation. A tablespoon of desire. A cup of madness. A recipe for disaster. Mm. Do you smell that? It’s the warm gooey cinnamon from my oven-hot rolls. I make the best baked goods in all of New Mexico, perhaps the whole world, using a secret family recipe, and a little forbidden magic. My bakery has been booming ever since I got rid of that 220-pound bag of moldy beans, aka the world’s most grotesque farting and armpit-sniffing ex-husband. My life is finally on track. My autistic preteen son is thriving, despite his unpredictable magic. My bumbling apprentice and her disappearing pygmy dragon only manage to set the place on fire a few times a month. And then he walks into my life. A tall, tanned, virile shifter, who, after one steamy night, makes me believe in a whole new kind of magic. There’s just one problem—he’s an outlaw, accused of a crime he says he didn’t commit. Am I stupid enough to believe him? Possibly. Am I reckless enough to follow him to the ends of the earth to prove his innocence? Definitely. Especially when the succubus he claims framed him might be the very same demon who killed my parents.