Page 18 of The Witch is Back

“The team?”

“You and me. We’re a team now.”

She shook her head. “We’re not. And we’re not kissing.” But she hadn’t stepped back or walked away, and if he wasn’t mistaken, her pulse was throbbing at the base of her throat. He had a sudden urge to put his mouth there, nip it.

That alone almost sent him bolting from the folly. This was Emmaline, remember? And all that went with her.

But she did have such a good mouth.

He kept that mouth in his sights as his chest brushed hers. He wanted to slide his hands over her hips, but instinct told him she’d rabbit if he pushed it.

So, instead, he angled his head down. “Just a kiss.”

Her response was a rapid in-drawn breath.

He kept his approach slow, slow enough that she could break away and run. Say no. Scream. Shout an immobilizing spell.

All she did was stare at him with those soft, wide brown eyes. Looking into them brought out a peculiar emotion, something he didn’t want to examine.

She was quivering just a little when he lowered the final inch, her mouth damp and soft. He rubbed his against it, enjoying the textures, the novelty that this was Emmaline. She parted her lips ever so slightly and he sipped at her. Her feet drifted closer, head angling back.

Taking his cue, he kissed her deeper, stroking her tongue with his.

Electricity in its purest form seared him down to his soles. His arms slid around her, held tight. His fingers dug in.

Goddess, she tasted like sugar and spice and all things infinitely not nice. Definitely naughty. And the realization made a groan stir in the back of his throat even as everything hardened.

He needed to stop. He’d said just a kiss.

With a surprising depth of disappointment, he lingered once, twice, and then pulled back to look into glazed eyes. The force of his desire to drop his head, to forget their deal blew through him, making his hands tremble.

He swallowed before he forced himself to loosen his grip and step back. Into reality with all its issues.

As she flushed bright red and whatever soft emotion he’d seen on her face twisted into a frown, his gaze wandered to the flowers on the hedges. Funny. There suddenly seemed to be twice as many.

CHAPTER 5

Emma counted off the seconds as they walked back into the ballroom. Faces wreathed with smiles as fake as some of the glamours older witches wore turned their way. She ignored them, barely touching Bastian’s arm as he escorted her. She badly wanted to grip it for support, her legs unsteady enough that they could be on a rocking ship. Start the countdown.

Twenty...nineteen...eighteen...

But she wouldn’t be gripping him anytime soon. That stupid kiss...

Her stomach clenched at the memory, even as she turned fury inward as well as outward. What had he been thinking? What had she been thinking?

Pride, that was what she’d been thinking. He’d been so sure a kiss would disarm her; she’d seen it in his face. He’d wanted to turn back time, for her to become the swooning girl in his arms.

So, pride had swaggered up, tapped her on the shoulder, beat its chest and assured her they could stand there, unmoved, stiff as an object hit with an immobilizing spell.

Idiot, she berated herself. She’d have been better off sneering at his idea. Now he’d know. Because there had been...just a moment...a sheer fraction of time...when she’d softened.

And now she hated herself for that curiosity, the shiver that had snuck up her like an international cat burglar and stolen her memories of who held her. It had just been so long since a man had kissed her.

That was all it had been. A reaction, a freak incident.

A hell of a kiss.

She smoothed the scowl before the partygoers spotted it.

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