But nothing happened. I felt nothing at his touch except a pleasant warmth and a little quiver that had nothing to do withessenceormagicand everything to do with the fact that I was a living, breathing woman being touched by a very attractive man.
“Why doesn’t that hurt?” I asked. “The last time you touched me I…” I suppressed a tremor, not wanting to relive that pain even in my memory.
“It’s complicated,” Octavian replied. “But it’s over now. You’re here. Safe.”
It wasn’t an answer, but I didn’t feel like pursuing the matter at the moment, especially since he’d lifted his big hand from my arm to my brow, where he was tenderly pushing a damp bit of hair away from my temple.
“I’m so glad you’re all right,” he said, his deep voice wrapping around me like a caress. “When I heard you screaming, I—” He cut himself off, concern welling in his deep eyes.
“You were worried about me?” I knew this wasn’t the time to go ga-ga over this strange, handsome billionaire man—this situation waswaytoo complicated—but the logical part of my mind was nowhere to be found at the moment. “After I refused to help you?”
“I never wanted you to suffer for that choice,” he rumbled, leaning ever-so-slightly closer. “I never wanted you to suffer at all, which was why I was willing to let you walk away.” His blue eyes traveled across my face, lingering for the briefest moment on my lips before rising to my eyes once more. “If I were a good man, I never would have invited you here in the first place.”
“Do you still want me to walk away?” I asked, my words barely above a whisper.
“Wantinghas nothing to do with it,” he said. His fingers were still at my temple, light as a kiss. “Wantingis dangerous.”
“Yes,” I heard myself agree. “It is.” This time I was the one looking athislips, and I could still remember their taste—warm and sweet and slightly tart. Somewhere, in the recesses of my mind, a little voice was screaming at me to get a hold of myself, to pull away from his touch and get out of this place before I did something I might regret. But another part of me—the part that was calling the shots at the moment—decided I would regret itmoreif I didn’t give in to my impulses just this once.
He might have been the first one to move. But I’m pretty sure it was me who leaned in, and it wasdefinitelyme who slid a hand around his neck and pulled his face toward mine.
This kiss was a lot clumsier than the first one we shared at the masquerade. This was more like a collision of lips, but the awkwardness only lasted a moment. Then Octavian tilted his head just a little, slanting his mouth across mine at just the right angle, and suddenly our lips fit together perfectly, like they were made to be locked together.
I moaned as pleasure flooded me, just as wild and mesmerizing as the first time.
And he, naturally, took that as encouragement, threading his fingers in my hair and deepening the kiss, letting his tongue play along my lower lip until my mouth opened slightly and he could slip it inside.
Our first kiss had tasted like Ruby Nectar. This one tasted like warm honey, and my head was buzzing like there was an entire swarm of bees inside. His other hand came up behind me, circling my back and pulling my body closer to his, and all I wanted to do was melt against him, to sink into the sweet, warm pleasure and see where it might lead.
Wanting is dangerous.His words echoed in my head, but they were as soft and as insubstantial as a whisper caught in a breeze, gone again before I’d even had the chance to really hear them. I was more than happy to lose myself in the moment, to give myself over to reckless indulgence, and Octavian seemed just as willing to meet me there.
He pushed me down on the bed, and my head sank back into that soft, deep pillow as he rolled on top of me, holding his weight up on his muscular arms. He seemed even larger in this position, dominating my entire field of vision, blocking out everything else but him.
His mouth shifted from my lips to the line of my jaw, then down my throat, his lips journeying across my skin with a slow deliberateness. Here and there his tongue would slip out and flick against me as if he wanted to compare how I tasted from inch to inch, and I gasped whenever he found an especially sensitive spot, like beneath my ear or the place where my neck met my shoulder.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against my skin, every word a kiss.
Meanwhile one of his hands had found its way to my side, and his fingers traced the dip of my waist before traveling down the curve of my hip. I arched against him, silently begging for more, and he answered with enthusiasm. He grabbed the fabric of my dress—I hadn’t realized I was still wearing it until it was suddenly in the way—and began to tug it up my body, exposing my legs all the way up to my hips. Then his hand slid down between my thighs.
My head tilted back, another moan escaping my lips as his fingers slipped beneath the edge of my panties. A new kind of pleasure flooded my belly at his first touch there, and it was almost overwhelming, drowning out the bees in my skull and drawing me back down into warm, sweet darkness, and—
I woke with a start, jerking into consciousness so abruptly it made me dizzy.
I blinked several times, then blinked again, trying to catch my breath. I was home, in my own bed, and though the room was mostly dark, the pale light of pre-dawn was seeping in around my curtains. My body was slick with sweat, and my thoughts were fluttering around in my head, refusing to settle into something I could understand.
That couldn’t have been a dream, my brain insisted.It felt too real.But even as I thought it, and even though I could still sense the evidence of my body’s desire, I knew the truth in my gut. That encounter with Octavian had been very—very—vivid, but it had been nothing more than an invention of my subconscious.
I wrapped my arms around myself, both embarrassed and a little relieved.I can’t believe I just had a sex dream—or an almost-sex dream—about Octavian Crestwood.He was insanely attractive, yes, but he was still practically a stranger. And possibly a little insane, since he either genuinely believed he was cursed or got his kicks from convincing random girls that he was. And even though I had no problem admitting to myself that he was a fine physical specimen, throwing myself at a guy I hardly knew wasnothow I wanted to lose my virginity.
A thought struck me abruptly—If the almost-sex was a dream, what about the rest of it? What if the masquerade, the curse, the Nectar—all of it—was a dream, too?
But no—I was still wearing my silver gown, though it looked a little worse for wear. And when I glanced over at my nightstand, I saw the delicate, lacy mask sitting between my lamp and my purse. I reached over and popped the purse open, just in case, but I wasn’t surprised to find no sign of my cell phone.
Mostof the masquerade had been real, then. But how had I gotten home? The last thing I remembered was writhing on the ground in pain, and Octavian’s deep voice in my ear…
I closed my eyes, rubbing my arms and trying to ignore the rush of heat that came with any thought of Octavian. My lustful fantasies could wait. There were questions that needed answering first.
And now that I was home, I realized, I had access to my laptop. Which meant I could use the internet, and contact Isaac and Esmer, and—
