Page 42 of A Fae’s Guide to Tactical Botany

But she found her focus diminished. She was drifting off into perplexed thought far too often.

Why did he not need her? He was still wounded. He could pretend it did not hurt to walk, but the rhythm of his steps on the ground did not lie. It did not seem possible that he no longer needed her support.

More mystifying, why did he not want her? The man who had treated her cactus obstacles like a child’s videogame, climbing and crawling and tumbling until he had reached her, grinning like a fool, was now politely declining her company during his research and retiring to his tent before the sun had even fully set. He was not rude to her in any way. His face still lit up like the sun when she appeared. He still asked questions, though they were fewer. He still clearly admired her, treated her with courtesy and interest and kindness. But he was…distant. Like there was a glass wall between his eyes and hers.

Like he’d retreated behind a barrier of his own making.

He was giving her exactly what she had been demanding of him since their first meeting, but now she did not want it.

It was ironic. And infuriating. And above all frustrating.

She wanted him. She had admitted it. And he was ignoring her.

In all her arguments, with Ofelia and in her own head, she had never imagined that she would finally decide to seduce him and he would turn out to be as inseducible as he was insufferable.

He had been right the first time she tried. She had been trying to hide behind sex to avoid confronting her memories of Tristan. Refusing to look in the mirror and see herself for the self-centered queen of drama she was.

But they had talked. She had told him the truth, and now he knew all. The last painful truth had been surmounted, and the way was clear for them to take the physical comfort they both clearly desired. But she would visit him, and they would speak, and she would flirt, and he would joke, and they would perhaps laugh a little, a light touch to the arm, a hand on the knee, and then just as she was leaning in to kiss him, he would draw away.

Which was his right, of course. He was not required to want her.

But she was certain that he still did.

His eyes. His breath. The telltale bulge in his jeans.

She would bet every grain of sand in the desert that he was languishing with desire for her.

Well, she was done with waiting. She was going to speak to him with plain words that even a botanist could understand. He should understand the importance of pollination. Or perhaps she would dance naked. She’d lived with the humans so long that she was accustomed to being clothed, but she was not ashamed of her body.

And there was not much time. He was planning to leave soon. Even with his injured foot.

She gave the wilting flower one last pleading look, then dove into the sand, unerringly finding her way to the place where Ethan was working today.

He smiled brightly when she emerged from the sand. “Good morning.”

“It is not morning,” she snipped. The sun was already well past its zenith.

“Isn’t it?” He squinted up past his hat brim at the sky. “I guess not. Time flies when you’re taking soil samples.”

“Here.” Mara held out her hand. She’d broken the pop tabs off all the cans of mead she’d finished. “For your sister.”

His smile widened. “You remembered.”

“I will bring the cans later,” she said. “When the bees have finished.”

“Good plan,” he said with a shiver. “Bees are great but I’d rather not have them swarming my camp.”

“I have asked them to leave you in peace,” she reassured him.

He pursed his lips wryly. “Well, that’s something. I’m not allergic, but getting stung is a bitch.”

Mara tossed her hair. “I am the only one allowed to sting you.”

His hands paused in their work. “Yep. I’m yours for the stinging.”

That was promising. Mara sat beside him, peering at his actions. “What will you do with the soil?” she asked.

“Mineral analysis. Nutrients and acidity, that sort of thing.” He held the tube of soil up, shook it and frowned. “Though I’m pretty sure it’s not the soil.”