Page 17 of Captured in Love
Uh!Of all the infuriating—
I bring up my hand to zap him again, but he catches my wrist and pins it to the door above my head. I struggle as he holds on, his gaze boring into mine. A surge of pure heat rushes through me at this show of strength. He could snap me in half, but his grip on me, though unbreakable, isn’t hurting me.
“Did you?” he repeats. When I don’t answer, he lowers his head and traces the edge of my jaw with his mouth. “You kissed me back.”
I did. Gods, I kissed him back, and it was amazing.
Isak’s lips hover over mine, so close his warm breath caresses my skin. The scent of him invades my senses, that wild, fresh ocean essence.
“Isak,” I whisper, and he shudders.
“Say it again,” he demands, caging me with his big body.
I repeat his name, and he kisses me. His lips crash down on mine, our tongues touching, and passion explodes inside me. I find his neck with my free hand and dig my nails into his skin to bring him closer to me. He groans into my mouth and lets go of my hand, but only to pick me up and press me against the wall. I give in and trace the hard muscles of his shoulders, then reach for his hair, tangling my fingers in it. It’s long enough to almost reach his shoulders, and I tug on it, luxuriating in the silky sensation.
Isak kisses me like he needs me to give him his next breath, and his urgency ignites the same need in me. If I don’t get him closer, I might go crazy. If he stops touching me, I’ll—
A picture frame clatters to the floor, the glass shattering with a bright chime. Our bubble of insanity pops, and I suddenly realize Isak is holding me a foot off the floor and that my t-shirt has somehow been pushed up to almost uncover my bra. Isak’s eyes are glassy with desire, and his hair is a mess—for which I’m entirely to blame.
I pull my hands back, then shove his hard chest to get him to let me go. He resists for a split second, then slowly lets me slide to the floor and steps away, but not before I feel the very insistent proof of his arousal. I sway a little on my feet, and he frowns then moves as though he means to catch me again, but I put my hand out to stop him and steady myself against the wall.
“Nora,” he says, “you…”
“I think you should go,” I croak. I tug my t-shirt down and cross my arms over my chest.
He opens his mouth, then seems to change his mind. His expression shutters, and he dips his chin in a quick nod. He turns toward the door, then swings back and pins me with a glare. “Don’t die down there.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “I don’t intend to.”
For a moment, I think he might say something else, but he doesn’t. Without breaking my gaze, he walks backward to the door. Something stirs in my chest, a stupid, thoughtless urge to make him stay.
“What’s in it for you?” I blurt.
He stops with his hand on the door handle. “The competition?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
“Something was taken from my clan. Decades ago. I need to get it back.”
I nod, understanding the urge. Something—someone—was taken from me, too, and even though I can’t get her back, I need to make sure I don’t lose anyone else.
Isak gives me one last long look, and then he’s gone, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. Silence stretches in the room, my heartbeat slowly returning to normal. I crouch and pick up the broken glass off the floor, hang the slightly crooked frame back on the wall, and sweep the small shards with a broom I find stashed in the closet by the door.
As I breathe deeply in the now empty room, my thoughts jumpstart again, and something that’s been nagging me pops up.
Isak said something had been taken from hisclan. Witches formcovens, not clans. I sit in one of the armchairs and absentmindedly pick up a blini to nibble on. The food has gone cold, but I don’t care. The man who just left my room is wrapped in layers and layers of intrigue, and I can’t seem to figure him out.
Maybe he used the wrong word for his family because English isn’t his mother tongue. But I hadn’t noticed any other slips in his speech—his mastery of the language is amazing, even though his words often take on a melodic lilt I could listen to for hours. And if he kept touching me like he did earlier…
I shake my head and remind myself I have no business kissing Isak Einarsson. The more I learn about him, the more I’m convinced he’s not who he says he is. So many things don’t add up.
I want to learn more about him. But first, I want to beat him at this game. He’s our competition, first and foremost, and I can’t let my personal feelings for him cloud my decisions. The next time he crosses me, I won’t just zap him with electricity, I’ll hit him with a hex so powerful, he won’t remember his name.
And if that plan makes me uncomfortable, I stamp down on those emotions. I’ve worked too hard to get here. I have a goal, and that man won’t stop me from achieving it.
Six
Raphaël
