Page 69

Turning on her heels, Lucy walked away without a response. Tears welled in her eyes, but as she went back to the counter, she quickly pushed the hurt away, replacing it with anger.

If that was how he wanted to be, then fine.

They both focused on their work, stewing as they ignored each other, though she kept catching him stealing glances her way—she was stealing them, too.

They lasted about an hour like that before she snapped.

Grayson kept leaning against bookshelves, purposefully drawing her attention to the toned lines of his body. She couldn’t stop thinking of the feel of his body over hers, how hard he’d pressed her into the bed.

“Stop leaning,” she snapped across the store.

“Why?” he snapped back, blue eyes blazing. “Because I said so.”

“You can’t boss me around!”

“Actually I can because I am literally your boss!”

Grayson scoffed, continuing to lean until Lucy sent magic in his direction, making the bookshelf zap him. He made a cry of outrage, stalking away.

Charles had said once that she and Grayson would get along like a house on fire, but she didn’t think he realized it would be this kind of mass destruction and carnage.

The next day was no better.

In the middle of the day, he peeled his light blue sweater off and rolled the sleeves of his shirt up, being lewd on purpose. Right in front of her!

Desire hummed through her at the sight of his forearms. She was staring, which was why she saw when a thought seemed to cross his mind. He whipped his head her way and glared.

“What?” she snapped, irritation flaring. He had no cause to be glowering at her in such a manner.

“You hexed me to feel hot, didn’t you?” he asked, voice angry. “I did not!” she replied, outraged at the accusation.

He rolled his eyes. “Right,” he muttered. “You don’t believe me?” she cried.

There had been no foul play all day! And for him to suggest otherwise was just plain rude.

“Why should I?” He scowled.

It was her turn to glare. She should have hexed him. She was just about to, too, when he took his shirt off, leaving him in nothing but a tight undershirt, showing off the toned muscles of his arms.

There was that thin metal chain resting at his throat. It glinted in the light. She remembered touching it three nights ago, again the next morning. She wanted to put it in her mouth and tug, feel him get hard as the metal bit into his skin.

Lucy stared, feeling hot herself. She remembered biting his arm. If she looked closely, she could almost see the indent her teeth had left. Unfortunately, that only made her think of her mouth on other parts of his body, which then made her think of his mouth on her body …

Heat pooled between her legs at the memory, and she pressed her knees together, turned on and aggravated. He smirked, as if reading her thoughts.

She sobered, realizing he was doing this on purpose.

So THAT was how he wanted to play it. Fine.

He wanted war? She would give it to him.

“You know what?” she said, voice sweet. “It is kind of hot.”

She walked out from behind the counter, kicking off her platform loafers. He frowned, confused, as she strode up to him. Then, she lifted her skirt.

His jaw slackened as her hands went to the top of her thigh-high socks. She swore she heard him make a low noise in his throat, a barely perceptible growl.

She brought the first sock down, inch by inch, bending over until the sock was down her knee, her calf, her ankle. She slipped it off, kicking it aside, leg bare. His eyes went dark. She did the same with her other sock, until both legs were naked.