Page 88 of The Witch is Back

“No.” He stood up abruptly, forcing her hands to drop away, and turned to whistle for Chester. “We should go.”

“Okay...”

She didn’t understand, him, his words, why he’d change his mind, but pushed slowly to her feet. Her cheeks flamed when she saw the surge of flowers around them, how lush they’d bloomed thanks to her uncontrolled magic, but she waited for her dog and stepped through the portal Bastian created in silence.

Her apartment seemed small after the manor. Normal. As though everything was the same. Always the same.

“I’m going to turn in, if that’s okay?” He didn’t look at her.

“Okay.” She turned for her bedroom. She’d taken one step before she twisted back to him. “Why shouldn’t we? I mean, you asked me to think about...” And now he’d given her permission to keep her secrets and not feel as guilty, she was all aboard that train.

“It’s been an evening,” he said, all but vibrating with tension. “You’re probably feeling all sorts of emotions. I don’t...” He trailed off to shove both hands through his hair. His gaze was raw and searching. “I want you, but I want you to want me. When you’re not feeling...everything.”

Emma wasn’t sure whether to be insulted or relieved for the reprieve. She didn’t know what she felt. It was safer just to repeat: “Okay.”

She called for Chester as she headed for her room. Her familiar landed on the bed, turning on his back for a belly rub, his expression hopeful as she shut the door behind her.

She obliged, sinking down next to him, scratching his belly. Chester’s back leg went into ecstatic midair scratching as she hit a good spot, but she barely noticed. Her chest was tight as she stared at the door.

He wanted her to want him when she wasn’t “feeling everything”? He picked now to be a good guy?

But...maybe he was right, the practical her pointed out. She was anxious about how Clarissa might seek revenge, giddy from Bastian going all white knight, needy from his kiss, still a little guilty about keeping secrets from him, no matter what he said...actions and reactions, emotions and logic swirled in her like a cocktail from Toil and Trouble.

All she knew was that she wanted him.

She wanted him.

Need shoved everything to the side and she fisted a hand in the covers. Screw sensible. She knew the score, and so did he. Why couldn’t she have some fun with her fiancé with the understanding that he’d leave after the ceremony and she’d only see him from time to time? As long as everyone knew the rules, it would be uncomplicated. It was time to take some chances.

Wild Emma.

Chester nudged her hand, yipped. He jumped off the bed and went to the door.

“You’re right,” she murmured, standing. Then stopped.

If she was going to take the risk, she was going to do it as herself. Not as the image her mother had made her into.

She did a turn, replaced the green sundress with a navy number that cut low in the front and had more in common with a nightgown than a dress. She’d seen Tia in something similar once and had admired how brave she was to wear something that bold. Now it was her turn.

She pulled her hair down, ran her hands through it, wincing as her scalp prickled, sensitive from being held back for so long. A good metaphor for her, she thought, crossing to the mirror. Restrained so tightly, now set free. And okay, it was a rush, sensitive, kind of painful. But it felt good.

All she had to do was walk through the door.

She didn’t give herself a chance to talk herself out of it, just opened the door and barreled through. “I want you,” she said, breathless at the sight of him standing on the other side of the couch. “I want you, and it’s not because you stood up to my mother and it’s not because of how she makes me feel. It’s because of how you make me feel. Prettier, smarter, funnier, more desirable than anybody has before.” She swallowed, hands fisting in her dress as she watched him. “When I look back on my life, I want to see color in it. So, kiss me, Bastian. Turn my world Technicolor.”

She’d run out of breath toward the end, and it was maybe the longest speech she’d ever made. But she didn’t focus on that fact. Her attention was all on the man staring back at her.

The man who strode forward, sliding the couch out of his way with a breathtaking show of telekinesis. The couch skidded to rest against the breakfast bar.

And then he was on her.

CHAPTER 18

Emma’s breath caught in her throat as Bastian hauled her against him, his lips urgent against hers, his hands tangled in the dress.

She met him eagerly, rising up on her toes to catch his mouth, to slide her hands into his hair. He tasted like the wine they’d drunk with dinner and a flavor that was uniquely Bastian, addictive and sweet and enough to have her gripping his hair tighter.

He dragged his mouth from her lips across her cheek. “You’re sure?”

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