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Frustrated, she grumbled, “I just want a rolling ladder like in Beauty and the Beast. Is that too much to ask?”
“Let me help you,” Montgomery pleaded. But Willow waved him off, stomping across the aisle to get a step ladder.
“I’m perfectly capable alone, thank you. I can’t expect you to stick around forever.”
“Stubborn woman,” thought Montgomery, watching her drag the step stool across the floor and ascending it with an armful of books. “Careful,” he said with the smallest tug of foreboding.
Full of indignation, Willow paid no attention to Montgomery. In fact she was so miffed, her overconfidence and ambition to prove her point blundered her steps (as it often does when one is angry) and she lost her footing. The books fell first, crashing to the floor, most likely bending the pages and cracking the spines to the horror of book lovers everywhere. Then Willow flapped her arms in big circles as if she were doing the backstroke but without water.
Montgomery didn’t consider how Willow might use magic to soften her fall, but in moments like these, one doesn’t stop to think. Only react.
He’d never moved faster in his life (or death for that matter) and out of pure instinct, ran as Willow lurched backward, reaching out to save her from hitting the floor. She landed squarely in his arms, but as he didn’t have the strength to hold her, he tumbled down, cradling her against his chest to cushion her fall.
She blinked as she looked up at his face, nestled like a baby in his embrace.
“You caught me,” she said in a daze.
“I did,” he replied. And in that moment, Montgomery forgot all about the argument, and that a hardcover was poking into his backside. All he saw was her. Those soft, hazel eyes still rimmed with pink, gazing at him with wonder. How her brows bunched together as her lips parted. How he could hold her like this forever and not be cross about it.
“This is why I don’t do magic,” she admitted.
“It’s okay,” he said softly. “Please know, I didn’t leave on my own accord. I would have infinitely preferred to stay with you.”
The softest blush bloomed across her features, and Montgomery decided he’d never seen anything more becoming, or more the subject of his desire. If he could only press his lips against hers and taste her kiss, he’d never want for anything.
“Monty?” Willow whispered.
“Yes, Willow?”
“You caught me.”
His heart thundered with expectation.
“Yes,” he said, fixated on her lips.
“No. Youcaughtme.”
She slipped her hand through his arms and touched his chest, pressing on it three or four times to test his density. Then, letting her hand wander up, cupped her palm on his jaw.
“How?”
A breath caught in Montgomery’s throat just then as a stark realization crashed over him. He’d caught her, and now was holding her in his arms. Arms very much resembling solid, living arms made of flesh and bone and sinew.
Removing one arm from beneath her shoulder, he gently placed his hand over hers, inclining his head into it and closed his eyes.
“How indeed?” he said, overcome with emotion he couldn’t describe. He wanted to cry but no tears came. He wanted to laugh, but no sound reached his throat.
“What is happening right now, Monty?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Are you scared? Because I think I am.”
He opened his eyes then, searching hers for answers, or maybe comfort. He only knew one thing. Willow Ravensong pulled him from the darkness. She was his bright white light.
At once her body tightened under his touch and her eyes darted toward the front door.
“Do you hear that?” She turned her gaze back at Montgomery and froze in panic. “Keys. It’s Dale.”
Wiggling out of Montgomery’s arms, she shot to her feet just as the front door opened.
