“Listen very closely, Witch,” he murmurs against my neck. “I would like to kiss you. Not because of what might happen tomorrow. Not because I haven’t kissed anyone in ages. Not even because you’re always wearing a frustratingly adorable apron.” To prove his point, his long fingers crawl under the strings of the tie at the small of my back, tugging against the knot. “But because I’ve wanted to kiss you for a shamefully long time.”
I try to breathe but it’s not going very well. “Since when? Since giving me a tour of your gardens?”
“No.”
“Since you fed me an animal cracker?”
His mouth runs over my jaw. “No.”
My voice shudders from my lungs. “Don’t be shy. Tell me.” If he’s torturing me, I’ll torture him. I’m not one to back down from a recipe I haven’t tried before. Something about this man makes me want to let go and lick at fire I can’t find in the kitchen.
“Since you shoved that hideous clog in my door and ordered me to clean something.”
White-hot sparks ignite in my core, and now my brain is reexamining every interaction after that moment, every smirk that was almost a smile. The man took his time.
“Orderedis a strong word…” I mumble.
“That’s one of the secrets I told the hounds.” His fingers dig for purchase under my rib cage. “Frankly, I’d like to do more than kiss you,” he adds in a breathless whisper. “But given what pitiful amount of energy I have left as we near the solstice, a kiss might be all I can do.”
The cottage is, impossibly, too huge now and there’s an appalling amount of space between us. I tug him closer. A growl rumbles low in his throat. I know the sound of hunger more than anyone.
I pull back to look in his face, and shove aside my worries about tomorrow, about the Widow Witch and curses and cures and… Enough.
“We can start there, can’t we? Go ahead. Ask me.”
I’ve never seen the hazel of his irises so bright, green cocooning rich, buttery yellow. He almost looks like he’s not dying. “Ms. Frost, may I kiss you?”
“Yes, but do you remember how? I mean how long exactly isages—”
“Careful, Witch,” he rasps, but there’s no threat in his voice. Only need. He gives the smallest bite to the skin over my pulse at my neck. Then he kisses the exact spot he bit.
I think I combust. Yes.Please.
I definitely make some kind of truly embarrassing sound. That’s all it takes. His mouth lands on mine and then he’severywhere.
One of his hands roams my lower back, holding me against him, while the other cups my cheek, my neck, his calloused thumb deliciously scratchy on the skin of my throat. My fists are so tight in his shirtfront, those wrinkles will be permanent. Our lips move, but we barely take more than a second at a time to breathe. When he at last needs real air, he pauses long enough for me to suck on his lower lip, hard.
He gets the message and palms my backside, dragging me tothe edge of the table so I fit right up against him, chest to chest, my thighs, core, all of it, pressed to him.
Much better.
His lips find mine again, andgood Lord, this man kisses like he’s been starved for years.
My hands and instinct take over. I claw my fingers through his thick hair, something I’ve wanted to do forages, and he rewards me with a sound I’ve never heard him make before, a clipped release of breath that’s suspiciously like a purr. I give a soft, playful tug to the dark strands, which makes him lean back just enough to give me the most piercing, devilish grin.
When his mouth touches me again, he’s found my collarbone this time, teeth grazing the dip and swell of the bone, separated only by a thin layer of my increasingly buzzing skin. Not buzzing—electrified. When his tongue finds the hollow at my throat, a vicious shiver racks me from my ears to my toes.
I definitely combust.
His lips cover my racing pulse point, like he’d swallow my whole heart if he could.
I can’t help it—a quiet whimper slips out of me.
“Jesus, Honey,” he gasps into my neck, breathing hard.
My arms blanket his shoulders, my legs wrap around his hips, and I squeeze, needing to feel him against me, seeking some kind of relief to the pressure building in my chest, my gut, everywhere.
But there are still too many layers between us. I need to feel his skin on mine.
