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I shut my own, but there’s something else that needs getting off my chest. Soon as I turn around, my door flies open on its own, and the air is charged as if . . . as if every nook and cranny in this resort is filled with power I can’t fight, no matter how hard I try.
Just like I can’t fight this attraction to Cristina, but she’s fighting tooth and nail to deny it.
“Go away,” she calls after I knock.
Her door flies open, too, and that same overpowering metallic charge in the air hits me squarely in the chest.
Her breath catches in surprise, and she takes in and figures out what I already have about the magic. She quickly schools her expression and says coolly, “You can’t barge in here.”
“I didn’t. My door opened by itself—just like yours, and you know it.”
Her jaw flexes. “What do you want?”
“I wanted to tell you that your little charms won’t work.” Her charms will totally work. “You can’t knock on my door dressed like that and think I’ll just forgive you.”
“I just so happened to change into my nightgown and then realized I should apologize. I didn’t wear this”—she grabs two handfuls of it—“to seduce you.”
For the record, everything about Cristina enchants me—even her Bitty Beings. And whether she believes it or not, the quilt knew exactly what it was doing when it put us together. I’ve tried to show her, but she refuses to see it.
But instead of saying any of this, I laugh, and her face hardens, frustration becoming defiance.
“For your information,” she snaps, crossing to me in those bare feet, toenails painted pink, “I could seduce you if I wanted to.”
My chest tightens. “You think so?”
“If I wanted to. But I don’t want to.”
Our gazes lock, and every part of my body is on fire for her. The urge to slide my hands up her cheeks and kiss her nearly knocks me into next week.
She licks her lips, and my eyes drop to her mouth. The air is thick with tension, and my voice lowers. “So you don’t want to try, is that right?”
She leans in, her minty breath brushing my cheeks. “You’re the last man on earth I’d seduce.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because . . .”
Come on, Cristina. Just admit there’s something between us. We’ll both feel better for it.
“Because I don’t like rich men.”
I bark a laugh. “Really? Rich men don’t do it for you.”
“Nope.” She lifts her nose. “Not at all.”
“So if I kissed your neck like this . . .”
I drop my mouth to her neck and linger, feeling the hum of magic electrify the air. When Cristina doesn’t stop me, I skim my lips under her jawline.
She moans and I smile.
Gotcha.
“And if I kiss your cheek like this”—I brush my lips over her cheek—“you won’t feel anything.”
“Nothing,” she murmurs, a little whimper escaping her mouth.
“And if I kiss your mouth like this . . .”
