“Is that why you don’t bother with it?”
“Capitalism?”
“Control.” She reaches behind my head and retrieves her glasses. Pops them back on, her eyes searching my face. “Everything you do is so… I don’t know. Spontaneous. Inspired. I wish I could be more like that.”
“No, you don’t.” I offer a sad smile, then shake my head. “Spontaneous or not, none of us has any control. Just influence. However, if you’re saying you’re ready for your own pitchfork tattoo, I’ll happily and spontaneously make the arrangements.” I grab her backside, sending her into a fit of giggles that doesn’t settle until I roll on top of her and pin her down, already hard as fuck for her again.
She opens for me at once, and I sink deep inside her and kiss her breathless, grateful that of all the witches who could’ve summoned and bound me, I ended up in the arms of this one.
Later, when the impending sunrise has turned the sky pink and we’re both showered, re-hydrated, and happily exhausted, we collapse into her bed, her back against my chest, my face buried in the crook of her neck, the cats finally allowed back inside, everything about the moment fucking perfect.
I’m just drifting off to sleep when I feel her turn over in my arms.
“What is it, love?” I whisper, opening my eyes to find her watching me intently.
“I’m not sorry I summoned you, Devlin.”
“No?”
“I mean—I’m sorry I magically kidnapped you against your will, and I’m sorry for all the inconvenience it’s caused you. But all that aside… I’m really glad our paths crossed. For all that I tried to ignore Gigi’s signs, I just… I don’t know. I can’t imagine going my whole life without ever getting an opportunity to know you. That’s all.”
She smiles again, brighter than the dawn, and I run my thumb across the lower curve of her mouth and sigh. After all the flirting, all the kissing, all theincrediblyhot sex, it’s this moment, this simple confession that strikes at the heart of me. That makes me wish, for just another fleeting moment, that it really could go on forever.
“Devlin?” she whispers, dazed and drowsy, nodding off. “Do you really think I’ve got a chance? With the grant, I mean? Even with Brandt calling the shots?”
“I think, mushroom…” I steal one more kiss, slow and soft and perfect, then cup her face. “You and your many, many spreadsheets will blow the competition out of the water, leaving the cunt-mollusk weeping and gasping for air and wondering what in the bloody hell just happened.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
VIOLET
“Holy shit, Violet! You’re wearing a skirt!”
I startle at Emmie’s sudden proclamation, nearly dousing the skirt in this morning’s energizing Get It, Girl brew.
“Emmie, jeez!” I dry off my tea-splattered hands and step out from behind the counter. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense. How do I look?”
Dropping a box of scones on the closest table, she walks a circle around me twice, taking in my transformed appearance—wild curls tamed into a sleek twist at the base of my neck, my breezy jeans-and-tee style swapped for a borrowed navy pinstriped blazer and skirt courtesy of Darla, a pair of Aunt Jos’s pantyhose that are absolutely squeezing the life from my limbs, and ankle-breaking heels from Olivy that I spent two hours traipsing around in last night—first, to practice. Second, for Devlin, in a slightly different context, the after-effects of which I’m still feeling on my inner thighs.
Which haven’t even recovered from the nightbeforethe heels. Or the night before that. Or any of the nights we’ve been setting on fire together since Halloween.
Not that I’m going to think about that right now.
Focus, Violet. Focus!
After what feels like a decade, Emmie finally comes around to face me again, her grin stretching wide. “Brandt fucking Remington, third of his boring-ass name, won’t even know what hit him.”
“Unless Iactuallyhit him, which is a distinct possibility.”
“And a well-deserved one at that, but not one we’re going to entertain untilafterthe grant money is sitting in your bank account. And when that happens—when, not if—I’ll be locked and loaded with another dozen powdered donuts to pelt at his stupid smug face, for old times’ sake. Deal? Deal.” She whips out a tube of lipstick and gives me an unsolicited touch-up. “You could use some color, though. Maybe blush. Do you have—”
“Yes.” I pat my purse, where I just dumped in all the old makeup from my nightstand. I hardly ever wear it, but there’s bound to be at least a few useful jars or tubes of something colorful in there. “I’ll do it on the ride over—Devlin’s driving. I know it’s a short walk, but between the heels and the hair, I didn’t want to leave anything to chance.”
“Plus,” Devlin says, popping out of the kitchen with a to-go cup of the Welcome brew he loves so much, “it gives me a chance to feel you up across the console, and who onearthwould pass up an opportunity like that?”
He winks at me, his eyes sparkling with that mischievous glint I’ve come to know and love, his hair still kind of messed up from having my hands in it all night.
All week.
