Page 14 of A Touch Charmed

“You’re injured.” I hid my face in his shoulder. “And I took advantage of you.”

He choked on a laugh. “I assure you, I’m not injured or unwilling.” He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “But we need to get these side effects under control if we’re going to have any hope of practicing, because you have no idea how bad I want to fuck you right now.”

At his words, the need rose in me again. I rubbed my hands over his chest as my gaze dropped to his lips. “What if I said that would be okay?”

“It wouldn’t be.” He let out a sigh. “Here. Let’s try something.”

He took his arms off me and the sudden loss made me impossibly cold, even though the temperature neared eighty. He stood and took a full step back. As the light on my palms dimmed, the desire I’d felt so acutely just moments before subsided, replaced by total humiliation and just a dash of horror. I’d really just tried to fuck Finn in the middle of the day on a common hiking trail where anyone could’ve seen us.

I buried my face in my hands. “Don’t look at me.”

He let out a low chuckle that hummed along my skin. Even the aftershocks of the side effects were brutal. “That’s why it wouldn’t be okay. It’s your magic that wants me, not you. While I may be a lot of things, I’m not that fucking guy.”

“I know you’re not.”

“Good.” He gave a short nod. “The snake almost took us out. I’m pretty sure that was the curse’s first corporeal form. A weak effort compared to what it will eventually be able to do. We need to practice so we can be ready for it next time.”

“How are we supposed to get ready for it?” I couldn’t see us practicing. Just looking at him raised my body temperature—and that was before he even touched me.

“I don’t think we should be away from each other.” He paced back and forth. An old habit of his when he had something on his mind. “You should move in with me.”

I shook my head. There was no way I’d heard that right. “What?”

“I want you to move in with me.” He stopped pacing and frowned, with his arms folded over his chest. “That horrified look on your face isn’t doing a lot for my ego right now.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m sure your ego can withstand the hit.”

“From anyone but you, bluebird.” He sounded sincere, but I used to think he was sincere about a lot of things that turned out to be bullshit. I knew better now.

“There has to be another way to deal with this.” I stood and dusted remnants of the forest floor off the back of my skirt. “I don’t think moving in with you is the solution.”

“It would only be for protection until we defeat the curse. I’m not asking you to share my bed.” He gave me a filthy smile that sent a shiver of warmth rippling over my skin. “Unless the temptation becomes too hard for you to resist.”

He was joking, but that was exactly what worried me. “We can practice or whatever during the day, but I’d rather risk death than move in with you.”

It was harsh, but I needed to be. If I didn’t purposely put distance between us, Finn would be Finn and I’d fall right back under the spell he wouldn’t even mean to cast. Charm just came too naturally to him. And I’d have no one to blame but myself for getting hurt again.

As I walked away, I tried not to notice the way his face fell.

Or how painfully my heart twisted.

Silence had its own variation of sound.

When I was seven, it was empty. An open space where there should’ve been praise for learning to ride a bike by myself, a gold star on my first school assignment, the birdhouse I made out of a cardboard box and packing tape. Instead, I’d been praised for my ability to be quiet.

At thirteen, it crackled. The drawings I set fire to because they said things no one wanted to hear. The flames in my cheeks after my father bragged about what an accomplished pianist I was when I’d never played. The burning in my knuckles after I punched a hole in my bedroom wall, a silent scream for them to notice.

At twenty-one, it echoed. When I’d fallen in love for the first time there had been something beyond the silence. A tiny grain of time that had been golden and light and mine. And when it was gone, the silence took on a new depth. I understood just how endless it could be.

At twenty-eight, it became static. Comforting. An itchy wool blanket I could wrap around myself. It never felt good, but it was familiar. Something I could depend on. That hollow place inside me grew into the closest thing I had to love.

And this afternoon, when I brought my father’s mail to his office, I found a new variation of silence: the sound my heart makes when it stops beating.

A cold wind rattled through my mind as a familiar logo grabbed my attention and I leafed through the papers on his desk with numb fingers.

The company I’d worked for in Boston, the one where I thought I’d been building something of my own. The one where I’d been fired for allegedly fumbling a campaign and turning in subpar work. The one where I’d lost all belief in myself.

Was owned by my father.

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