Page 93 of The Witch is Back

But he also wouldn’t let her believe he’d been sleeping around for seven years. “No. Not lots. One.” One too many.

Doubt replaced Switzerland. “One? But you’re...” She skimmed her eyes up and down.

Under normal circumstances, he’d have reacted to such a flirty comment. Now he needed her to believe him. “One,” he repeated firmly. “And it was a disaster.” He let out a breath, cupped her waist. “You sure you want to talk about this? Can’t we talk about how you have a few freckles on your hip that look like Cassiopeia?”

She watched him for a minute, then shrugged. “You’re right. We don’t need to talk. Casual, right?”

It was her easy capitulation that did him in. That and the fact that he was being a coward and running again. And he’d already told her the worst of it.

He rolled to his back, grabbing her hand, tangling his fingers with hers and bringing it to rest on his chest. He stared up at her ceiling, aware of her gaze on his face. “It was with an exchange student I met in the first six months after I left.” She’d been human, British and a lot more experienced. “She was with a group I was hanging around, and she pursued me hard. I didn’t put her off. I...liked the attention. I liked that she wasn’t after me because I was Bastian Truenote, heir to a Higher family, perfect warlock and son.” No history between them, no suspicions of betrayal, no complicated love. “She just thought I was hot and funny and she wanted a fling on her holiday. I’d left witch society behind, convinced myself that this was me being my own man, not playing into what was expected of me. So I went to bed with her.” He cringed inside as the words left him. “It was awkward and I felt like shit. Sick to my stomach. I left halfway through and didn’t speak to her again.”

Emma was quiet. Then she said, “Doesn’t that count as half a time, then?”

No judgment in her voice. No hurt, betrayal. He dared a look at her. She had a faint, but unmistakable, smile on her face.

He grabbed on to that, hope a tight ball inside. “You’re not...”

“What?”

“Angry? Betrayed? Hurt?”

“Bastian.” She readjusted her head on the pillow, squeezed his hand from within what he realized had become a death grip. He gentled it. “We were kids when the contract was drawn up. It wasn’t your choice or mine...it was just what it was, and we didn’t question it. We weren’t responsible for it.” At the mention of the contract, his gaze shot to hers, examining it for any indication. If she was insinuating something, he couldn’t tell. “You didn’t ask me to marry you. We weren’t a couple.” She traced his face with her eyes. “It wasn’t cheating.”

“Then why did it feel like it was?” The question was ripped out from where it had grown, nurtured by guilt and self-loathing. Because even with his suspicions and hurt, he’d felt like he’d betrayed her.

Her smile kicked up the corner of her lips. “Because you were brought up to be the perfect man.”

He shook his head, serious. “I’m not, Emma.”

“I know.” She inched closer. “I kind of like the less perfect version. Makes you more...” She struggled for the word.

“You’re not mad?” he asked again, needing to make sure. “Some might say I betrayed you. Shouldn’t betrayal be punished?” So much he couldn’t say there.

She cast him a semi-exasperated look. “Sure, if it was true betrayal, but sometimes it’s in your head, and that needs to be let go. It wasn’t. We weren’t a couple. We didn’t make promises. All that existed back then was a piece of paper neither of us signed.”

A piece of paper neither of us signed.

Emma had been a bystander, a victim, he thought. Just like him.

“Fresh start,” he said now, adding emphasis to cover all past actions. “But we have more between us than a piece of paper.”

“Not right now.” Now she smiled, one full of mischief. “And Bastian, really. You could have told me it was practically your first time.”

“What?”

“I could’ve been...” She shrugged, a coy copy of him. “Slower. A little less rough. Or something.”

Affection and desire made him dizzy, and he lunged for her. She squealed as he caught her, rolling on top. So happy he felt it flood from his grin, he put everything he was feeling into a kiss.

“What I want to know,” she said, breathless when he lifted his head, “is how you knew all those moves.”

He cocked his head. “You know how I told my mom I learned to like some books? There are some great books out there.” Not to mention movies, but he didn’t need to go into that right now.

“Romances?”

He evaded. “All kinds of books.” At her steady look, he sighed. “Yes.”

She laughed, delighted. “Goddess bless romance writers everywhere.”

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