Page 42 of Charmed

"I can think of a few topics where we don't disagree." He took a pull of beer to hide his grin, waiting for her to snap the bait.

She cocked a hip, causing her tight purple sundress to expose two more inches of her toned thighs. "Oh, really? Pray tell."

"We both know you wear the pants in this partnership." He made a point to drop his gaze to her legs and methodically work his way back up to her face. "Metaphorically speaking."

A hint of a smile teased her lips. "I may or may not concede to that."

Damn, did he want her. "We both agree that your mouth is a lethal weapon and the only way I'll get the upper hand is if you're unconscious."

She tilted her head as if considering. "That would be a nonfictional statement, yes."

"We both concur I'm funny, charming, handsome to a fault, and you find me attractive." He raised his beer to immediately cut her off. "But you trump me in the witty and sexy-as-hell categories nine times out of ten."

"You redeemed yourself with the latter part. It's ten out of ten times, though."

It would be an outright miracle if he kept his physical, primal desire for her in check the rest of the evening.

"And we both agree you have total and utter control in all things. Except..." He shrugged, set the bottle on a table, and strolled toward the edge of the gardens, partially out of sight.

Three, two, one...

"Except, what?" she huffed, right on cue. Her footsteps padded the grass behind him.

Game. Set. Match.

He wrapped an arm around her waist, pressed her back against a tree, and invaded her orbit the very way she'd embedded herself inside him. Caging her with his legs, he aligned himself so she would see, hear, and feel nothing but him. Her atmospheric scent slammed into him and he groaned.

"Except control is just an illusion, babe." His lips feathered hers as he spoke, and her heavy lids lowered a fraction in response. His gut tightened with visceral, painful need. "No one person has that kind of power all the time. Not even you."

He dipped his head and nuzzled her neck, earning a shiver. "Interesting fact, Fi. The only time I've ever seen you surrender is when we're together like this." He traced his tongue over the soft skin below her ear. Her breathy mewl had his hips jerking in response, and he thrust against her. Hard. "And, babe? I cannot wait to liberate you. I'll demonstrate over and over again how gratifying losing control can be."

Her warm, uneven exhale caressed his jaw, and he dug his fingers into the fabric of her dress to avoid taking her right here, right now. "It's a crying shame we've got your circle ritual tonight." She'd spend the rest of the evening with her sisters. Sucky, that. He lifted his head and nipped her plush lower lip. "I keep my promises, though. You're back to your usual sassy self. So, tomorrow night, we're on. You, me, and my hands all over you."

A parting of her lashes, and her seductive gaze met his. "What do you know," she whispered. "We do agree on something. I'll pencil you in."

"Use permanent marker."

Chapter Twelve

Fiona shut the register at Bedknobs & Broomsticks and turned when the jingle on the door chimed. She'd flipped the Closed sign ten minutes ago, but it served her right for not locking up.

Except, it wasn't a wandering customer.

Riley strode in rocking a gray tee and well-worn jeans, stressed in all the right areas, with the late day sun at his back. His midnight strands were in a more emphasized version of wind-blown chaos than usual, but his grin was cranked to resist-me-if-you-can.

He glanced around. "Longest day in the history of ever."

She ignored the strum of desire he instinctively invoked and blew out the candles on the counter. "Technically, that would be yesterday, seeing as Summer Solstice is the longest day of the year. It occurs when the planet's rotational axis, or geographical pole on its northern hemisphere, is most inclined toward the star that it orbits." She tilted her head. "Scientifically speaking."

Amusement warmed his eyes as he shoved his hands in his back pockets. "It's so hot when you talk all witchy-like. Not to argue with science, but I beg to differ on this topic. I swear, time moved backward today while I was counting the hours until you closed shop." His gaze heated. "Anticipation of our plans, I suppose."

She hated—and by hated, she meant loved—how he could render her breathless with one seductive look, a dip in his rough timbre, or the surprisingly sweet things he often said. Sometimes, he'd slip a compliment between frustrated rants or mutter under his breath like he had no choice, but once he flipped his rare alpha switch, he didn't hold back. It was a side she'd only witnessed while he was aroused.

And it must be contagious. Whenever he made a move, or implied he planned to, she turned into a gooey puddle of lust, complete with a liquefied skeletal system and compromised brain matter. It was maddening, really.

To think, just a few weeks ago, she'd been complaining about the lack of spark she'd gotten from her sexual interests. The tedium, the monotony. Over and over, the same pattern. None of her partners had manned up and taken charge. Zero satisfaction.

Goddess, then there was Riley. He'd driven her bonkers with the will-he/won't-he indecisiveness in the beginning. But something had changed recently. Almost as if he'd been waiting on her...approval. Since that moment in her kitchen when she'd made him snap and he'd kissed her, he'd been the enforcer.

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