Page 38 of Reluctant Wizard

“I think I do. I’m still not fully convinced this isn’t a reaction to all that’s happened.”

With a huff of exasperation, she grabbed the hem of her shirt, yanking it from his grasp, and pulling it off over her head in one movement. “There,” she declared, planting her fists on her hips. “Is that decisive enough?”

He didn’t respond immediately, too dazzled by the sight of her in the sheer white tank and blush-pink lacy panties. Her deep rose nipples thrust taut against the nearly transparent silky fabric, tipping her delicate breasts with frankly erotic effect. And the lace clinging to her narrow hips, just covering the black hair at her pubis, revealing the smooth, tawny skin of her flat belly… He nearly dropped to his knees again to better press kisses to that sweetly alluring expanse, an impulse difficult to resist with his legs going weak from the overwhelming blend of passion and tenderness. He wanted to ravish her and tend to her in equal measures, the warring needs stretching him on the tenterhooks of desire.

“Cillian?”

The sound of his name penetrated his stupor and he belatedly raised his gaze to her face, which looked wryly amused. It seemed that might not have been the first time she tried to get his attention. At least, the rational, mental variety. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, but you are so fucking beautiful. I’m looking at you and…”

Her expression softened, though the amusement remained. “Why are you sorry?”

“Um.” He had to think. Shook his head. “Not sorry that you’re so gorgeous, but that I’m apparently struck stupid by the sight of you. I didn’t expect the lingerie.”

She grimaced, looking down at herself. “Blame Nic.”

“I believe I’ll have to send her a thank you note. Perhaps a gift.”

Alise laughed, eliciting a smile from him, too, which helped diffuse the tension and nerves. “I’m torn between telling you not to even consider it and wanting to be there to see her face.”

“I think Nic would maybe understand what’s between us.”

She sobered. “I’m not sure I understand what’s between us.”

“Is that all right?”

She considered that gravely. His Alise, never one to leap to an answer or decision. “Yes,” she said, nodding to confirm it. “I think… I think I’m willing to find out.”

It was hardly a declaration of love, but her words struck his heart as if they were. The warmth and happiness welled up, becoming a smile that felt radiant—and that she returned, at first hesitantly, then with confidence.

He held out his hands to her. “Then let’s find out.”

~18~

Alise put her hands in Cillian’s, the nerves still thrumming through her, but on a different frequency, changing pitch from trepidation into excitement. Standing before him, nearly naked, in the truly scandalous underwear Nic had insisted she take when her own grew ragged from too many washings—and which she’d frankly forgotten she was wearing—Alise felt new inside her skin.

Maybe it was the avid way Cillian stared at her, going off into a reverent waking dream, but she actually felt… pretty. Beautiful, even, when Cillian said so with that raw frankness, his desire sharpening his magic. As she’d told him, Alise usually “saw” magic, and Cillian’s appeared to her most of the time as a quiet aura, shifting in grayscale, sometimes more black or more white, but always organized. It changed in character now as he took her in, cataloguing her body with potent admiration. And when he touched her…

Well, the tactile sensation of his magic had nothing quiet about it. It surged like the feel of ocean waves. Alise had gone to the coast with her parents one time, accompanying her papa on a summer excursion to evaluate some Elal shipyards, and she’d played in the surf while he worked, Maman absorbed with holding Nander’s hand and keeping him in the shallows. Nic must have been off at Convocation Academy already. It had been a rare bit of independence for Alise and she’d swum out, discovering how to go with the swells instead of fighting them, learning to recognize when they would curl and start to break—and how to swim just ahead of them until they caught her like a hand and sent her sailing back to the shore.

Cillian’s magic felt like that, both gentle and powerful, a deep swell carrying her, with a cresting force welling up, ready to take potential to crashing reality. Not at all what she’d expected from a librarian. Hidden depths.

He guided their clasped hands to his shirt, encouraging her to undo the buttons, and she did so with building curiosity. One by one, she slipped the buttons free—no fancy Ophiel garment for him—spreading the lapels as she worked. His breathing quickened, but he stood patiently while she performed the simple task, revealing his lean chest, a sprinkling of silky black hairs in loose spirals on his pale skin as if they’d been inked on by a scribe. She traced her fingertips along them, touching the velvet of his nipples, glancing up when he drew in a hiss of breath. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” He breathed a laugh, his hands in loose fists at his sides. “It’s arousing.”

“Oh.” She actually blushed, which seemed silly, given that she stood there in her revealing underthings, touching his bare chest. Speaking frankly of arousal made the blood heat her cheeks and she had to look away.

Cillian tipped a finger under her chin, lifting her gaze to his. “Everything good?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “It’s just a lot.”

“We can stop at any point. Just say so.”

She nodded, his finger still on her chin, but she didn’t want to stop. A large, practical part of her wanted this over and done with, so that Gordon Hanneil couldn’t rob her of that first time, and that same practical part knew if she articulated those thoughts to Cillian, he’d balk again. Resolute, she pushed the shirt off his shoulders, then dropped her hands to unfasten his pants, all the while holding Cillian’s gaze. “I don’t want to stop.”

His fingers tightened on her chin, a spasm of need that thrilled her, and when he dropped his lips to hers to take her mouth in a long, drugging kiss, those waves of his magic dragged her under water. Ancient and deep, his magic felt like thousands of minds, like diligent study and the love of words. Debates and thoughts and descriptions and the weighty feel of books in the hand and crisp pages as they turned. Never would Alise have called such things erotic and yet, with Cillian’s mouth on hers, his hand on her waist sliding slowly up her ribs, nothing had felt more sensually stimulating.

When his hand cupped her breast, she gasped into his mouth, and his lips curved into a smile against hers. “So sensitive,” he murmured. “So fucking sexy.”

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