“The veil is thin, right? So maybe we go for it? I mean, it’s almost like it won’t count.”
“What happens behind the veil stays behind the veil, that’s my motto.”
“An excellent one at that.”
“Mushroom?”
“Yes?”
“Less talking, more kissing?”
“Also an excellent motto. Actually, I like that one better than the what happens behind the veil one, because—”
I cut her off with a kiss, the rest of her words evaporating as she sighs against my lips, her hands twining into my hair, body melting into my embrace.
The taste of her, the silken heat, the feel of her in my arms… I’m gone.
Another soft sigh, and she parts her lips for me and deepens our kiss, the apple cider sweet on her tongue as I lick and nibble and tease. A red-hot spark of desire sizzles down my spine and I pull her closer, my mind swimming, my cock already aching for more, the scent of her magic intensifying as I lose myself completely to this moment, the forbidden kiss I wasneversupposed to want.
It takes me far too long to hear the thunderous applause, and for a moment I think maybe it’s for us. But when I open my eyes, I spot the Pumkinville Mayor sashaying onto the stage, waving to the crowd with her scepter.
The moment pops like a soap bubble. Violet pulls away, looking up at me with dazed eyes and puffy lips, her breathing ragged, glasses askew.
“Thank you all so much for joining us at our seventy-fifth annual Halloween Ball and Shop Crawl!” Mayor Singh begins, and I turn back to the stage in a daze, watching her toss handfuls of candy to the bouncing, squealing children below. The crowd cheers and whistles, and then, all at once, I’m yanked by the invisible leash.
Violet.
She’s gone.
I whirl around and spot her beelining for the exit, the limitations of our magical bond forgotten in her haste to escape, leaving me no choice but to run after her, heart pounding, hard-on bobbing beneath the silk like a dinghy on a storm-tossed sea.
Chapter Twenty-Three
VIOLET
What. The hell. Was that?
My skin is tingling, my heart vibrating, my chest rising and falling like I just mainlined puerh tea and ran a marathon, and I can’t. Freaking.Breathe.
I bolt for the exit like the building is on fire, completely forgetting about the magical leash. At the telltale yank, I stop just long enough to spy Devlin following, giving me some slack. Slower this time, I head out into the courtyard and duck behind a maple tree, leaning back against the trunk.
Closing my eyes, I press a hand to my chest, sucking in big gulps of air.
That kiss. That freakingkiss!
Yes, I’ve been fantasizing about him for weeks. Yes, every time he touches me during our cat-reading sessions, I catch myself pretending it’s real. Replaying those romance stories all the way to the end, alone in my bed at night, wishing against all logic and reason that he’d just bang down the door, strip off my clothes, and give me therealAmbrosia Divine play-by-play, no hayloft required. And yes, onoccasion, when he’s in the shower and out of earshot, lesson learned, I take Mr. Wiggles out for a spin, clawing at my sheets and whispering Devlin’s name into my pillow as I fall right over the edge.
So you’d think—after all his cheeky innuendos and nonstop touching and flirtyDevlinisms—I’d be used to it. That my many,manyX-rated fantasies and multiple battery-induced orgasms achieved in his honor would’ve numbed me to his charms, to the butterflies in my stomach at the touch of his hand, to the rush of heat between my thighs at the mere sound of his delicious buttery accent, but…noooo.
And it’s not just the physical stuff, either.
Just when I think I couldn’t be crushing any harder, the man does somethinggenuinelysweet and sincere, like painting mugs with me, or dancing with my aunts, or saving me from Brandt, or fixing my glasses and showing me how to slow dance.
Then he just hauls off andkissesme? Likethat? Like it’s actuallyreal?
No. Itcan’tbe real. No way. But that kiss? Good goddess. I felt it in places I didn’t even think existed in real-life female anatomy—places I’ve only ever read about in Ambrosia’s books, painted with words like petals and channels and dark, secret gardens.
We’re real, all right!comes the downtown rallying cry, my core still pulsating with shockwaves of molten-hot desire.Welcome to the funhouse, girl! And thankyou, Devil sir, and your Devilish tongue… Can wepleasehave another? Preferably about two feet lower next time…
