“Sorry! So sorry!”
“We knew we were going to get wet.” He shrugs. Then his voice takes on that commanding tone he gets. “You, however, need to jump earlier.”
“Yes, sir!” I say, not being sarcastic at all. Okay, maybe a teensy bit, but only a smidge. Pinky promise.
Because he’s right—I jumped too late.
“Again,” Luke growls.
“Yep.” I walk back to the starting point and run at him again.
We spend an hour at the waterfall. An hour of me falling this way and that. An hour of me reliving every sport forced upon me by a public education PE program.
But it’s also an hour of laughter, as I grow tired and the falls begin to feel silly, Luke’s tiny half-smile tugging at my heart each time.
An hour of Luke’s big hands on me, his body against mine, catching me over and over, my own personal hero.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Skye
We spend all of the next day moving through as much of the witch collection as possible, clearing multiple bookcases to try to find another dark-purple book. With Luke’s help, I no longer have to leave multiple stacks of books as a tripping hazard in the middle of the aisle. Maybe they won’t have to make occupational safety posters about me in addition to the HR-warning ones.
Because I can’t stop thinking of how we had sex in the book due to my spell, and I have no regrets.
My complex feelings about that are all tangled up in my newfound awareness of Luke’s weredragon form. The feel of his tail helping to pull me from the water, so strong and agile it has me wondering what else he can use it for. The time I almost made it into the full lift, and my hands grabbed for his horns like they were a steering wheel, while he held me somy thighs hovered right in front of his face. The spread of his wings as he caught me, making me dream of him taking me flying—only naked flying,spicyflying.
Turning from the shelf, I find him standing, leaning back against a ladder, one foot propped up on its lowest rung. His eyes devour the book spread open across one hand with complete and utter focus. His dress shirt falls open at the front, showing off a delicious amount of perfectly muscled chest.
“Snickerdoodle,” I murmur, voice full of appreciation. He’s every librarian’s wet dream: the achingly hot guy who loves books as much as me and has the library to prove it.
“What’s that?” He glances at me, the power in his golden eyes mesmerizing.
I sway toward him, barely catching myself on a bookshelf. “Oh, it’s a cookie.” Not a lie, but also not how I use the word. “I’m getting a little hungry, and I like snickerdoodles.”
“Do they have cinnamon in them?” He cocks an eyebrow, the left corner of his lips twitching.
“Yep. You know me. Cinnamon all the way.”
“Sweet and spicy,” he murmurs, his deep voice making my thighs clench. Are we still talking about food or aboutme?
Is he using his warming magic on me? Because it totally feels like he’s using it on me. I start to tingle, and it takes me a second to realize it’s not just a case of extreme horniness brought on by close proximity to a book-hoarding dragon.
Golden sparkles surround us, carrying us up, up, and away into the book.
I have no idea where I’m going to land, but it’s still surprising to find myself inside an adorable ice cream shop that reminds me of the one Ferndale Falls used to have when I was little. The aunts would bring me here on Saturdays for the child-sized banana split. Aunt Betty always joked that it contained real fruit and was therefore healthy, while Aunt Irene rolled her eyes and told her to stop being silly right before turning around and ordering her own not-so-child-sized banana split, which set Aunt Betty laughing.
In fact… I spin around, taking in the glass-fronted ice cream cases that line the length of the store, the mint-green walls, and the black and white checkerboard floor. It’s exactly like the ice cream shop of my childhood, the book once again borrowing a familiar setting from my mind.
My spin finishes when I make one last quarter turn and plaster myself to a firm chest, a very familiar firm chest, even if it’s now wrapped in a faded Led Zeppelin T-shirt.
“Whoa there, babe.” Luke gives a rich chuckle. “You gotta watch where you’re going.”
The easy humor and slang sound so wrong for him. Combined with the missing horns, wings, and tail, it hits really hard that this isn’t the real Luke, isn’tmyLuke.
But he’s the only Luke I’m likely to ever get, since the book plot makes him desire me, so I smile.
Then the book takes over my body. My grin widens, my eyes fluttering more than a flock of butterflies finding a field of nectar-filled wildflowers.
