After another excruciatingly long pause, I finally open my mouth to speak, both of us blurting out words at the same time.
“Violet, I wanted to—”
“I’ve been thinking—”
She blushes. Smiles again. I gesture for her to continue.
“I was thinking about what you said about the grant,” she says. “That maybe I should consider it after all. Is that what you wanted to talk about?”
She blinks up at me expectantly over the rim of her teacup, patient and adorable, glasses steamed up from the tea, her mouth parted in a way that has me absolutely ready to confess all of my sins just for one more chance to taste that forbidden kiss.
“Ah, the grant! Yes. So glad you’re reconsidering, tops on the list of Important Things We Must Eventually Discussbut… here’s the deal, mushroom, fae queen of the ball, most beautiful witch of Wayward Bay.” I remove the cup from her hands and set it on the counter. Then, cradling her face, “If I have to goonemore second without kissing you again, I’m afraid my immortal life will come to a brutal end, and I’ll die at your feet wearing nothing but a woman’s negligee beneath a Kettle and Cauldron standard-issue black apron, and you’ll have only yourself to blame.”
One more smile for the Devil. “You want to kiss meagain? Seriously?”
“What would ever make you doubt it?”
“I don’t know. It all happened so fast, and then the mayor was talking, and all the clapping, and I kind of freaked out and I just thought… I thought maybe you were just… Ambrosia Divining me.”
“You thought that kiss was anact?”
She shrugs and lowers her eyes, dark lashes fanning across her cheeks. “Not an act, but… I don’t know. You’re very…expressivesometimes. Physically speaking. I didn’t want to assume—”
“Look at me, beautiful.” I thread my fingers into her silky curls, pulling them free from the bun as I lower my mouth to hers. Then, in a soft whisper, “Lookat me.”
She finally peers up at me again, her eyes wide and searching, full of bewilderment and lust and the barest shred of hope.
“Main Street,” I say. “October seventeenth. That first night when we walked to Saints and Sinners. You stood beneath the streetlamp, your eyes so blue, lashes dark from the rain. We were talking about sleeping arrangements and showering. I made a crack about my back scrubber.”
She laughs, remembering. “I thought you were talking about somethingelsegetting hard.”
“Yes, and you did your little snort-laugh, and that was it.”
“That was what?”
“The very first time I wanted to kiss you.”
“It… it was?”
“And in the weeks that followed, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve wanted to kiss you since, as much as I’ve tried to pretend otherwise, for both our sakes. But tonight, the moment you waltzed into the café, beautiful and sweet and happy… MercifulHell, Violet. All I wanted was to take you into my arms and kiss you breathless. And now that I’ve had a taste of it, all I want to do is kiss you breathless again. So maybe that makes me a fool, but—”
“Devlin?” She presses her fingers to my lips and smiles again, her eyes misting. “Less talking, more kissing. Excellent motto.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
DEVLIN
We barely make it up the stairs without falling.
I can’t stop kissing her again, inhaling the scent of her, touching her, the damnable farting unicorn shirt thwarting my efforts with a row of buttons in theback—whomakesthese bloody garments?—until she finally breaks away and strips the shirt off over her head, revealing a peach-colored bra with tiny daisies.
As cute as it may be, that needs to go as well—far too much blasted fabric between my mouth and her silky-soft skin.
The moment we reach the apartment, I pick her up and carry her to the bedroom, tossing her onto the bed and stripping off the bra, the leggings, the panties until she’s finally bared to me, my perfect Halloween gift all unwrapped. I tear off my Freudian slip, leaving the good doctor behind as I climb onto the bed and steal another kiss.
“Wait!” she laughs. “My glasses!”
She tries to remove them, but I grab her wrist. “No, mushroom. The glasses stay on.”
