She didn’t need sigils; the mere touch of his fingers was mark enough. He progressed to the third one, and she arched as he drew further down the spine, an inch above the line of her skirt. The lower his finger went, the more her core pulsated, yearning in expectation. She finally couldn’t take it anymore.
She turned around and whispered, “Simon.”
Ha paused with his hands hovering above her waist. “Shanna.” It was a plea, and an order, and he bent down and dug his face into her hair as he grasped her hips and carried her to the bed. He descended upon her, peppering kisses from her jawline and further down her neck, following the delicate chain of her locket to where the golden heart rested in the valley between her breasts. From the layers of their still remaining clothes, a scorching heat spread, making Shanna reach for the waist of his pants.
“There’s a little thing to mention.” With his lips still hovering above her chest, he looked up. “I think, theoretically, I hadn’t done this in three years.”
“Me neither.”
A brief surprise flickered in his eyes, and then a mischievous smile spread on his lips. With a newfound gentleness, he laid more kisses on her as she arched into him, sliding her fingers down the curve of his spine. “Tell me what to do,” she said.
He came back up, resting his cheek against hers. “Love me.”
She leaned into him. “I do.” And she showed him in the best way she could. Because tonight, she was a competent, confident witch—and what she did was pure magic.
Chapter 15
Simon had never thought about weddings much. Certainly never about his own. A Vegas wedding wouldn’t have been on the list, and the view afterward—of the long, dimly lit, bare hallway, as he and Shanna sat on the stairs of the chapel—was nothing to write home about, either.
Shanna, however, was something else. His head was a bit too fuzzy from alcohol to think clearly, but he couldn’t shake off the feeling that this, as ridiculous as it looked, had been something significant. That his life would never be the same again.
She leaned her head on his shoulder, the silvery stream of her hair spilling down his chest. Simon sighed; a bit unfocused, sleepy, and slightly disoriented … but above all, content.
***
Simon stood by the window, watching the early morning mist coalesce around the dark green mountains in the distance. The perfect quiet and calm of the post-dawn had left him ampleopportunity to be alone with his thoughts, and he was surprised to where they’d wandered off.
Shanna, and this place.
It was easy to get lost here—in a good sense. So easy to forget the rush and pressure of the outside world, forget how many days had passed since the start of their journey, or even forget what day it was. It might be Wednesday, or Sunday—Simon actually had no idea, and he didn’t care. As long as he could stay in this little pocket of their adventure, it didn’t matter.
It was easy to get lost in Shanna, too. The memory of her silky-smooth skin against his fingertips still lingered, strong enough to awaken the desire again. He turned, tucking his hands into the front pockets of his pants, and watched her in peaceful sleep. The symbols he’d drawn on her back last night were barely recognizable—but the traces leading from them were more than clear. The traces of his fingers, each of them a mark, a caress. His chest was no better off, smudged all across with that brown concoction that smelled of cinnamon and roses.
They’d shared their love spell. Traces of her were on him now, and his were on her, and even though they probably made him look horrendous, Simon didn’t want to wash them off. He didn’t want to let her go yet.
Shanna stirred, yawned, and stretched her arms. She turned onto her back, blushing and pulling up her sheet when she met his eyes. “Hi.”
“Good morning.” He came to sit beside her on the edge of the bed. He wet his lips, but words suddenly failed him. Should he ask her how she was or had their play ended? Were the Simon and Shanna of last night gone, and they were to pretend it never happened?
Shanna lowered her gaze to his chest and burst into laughter. “Oh, no.”
“You should see your back.”
She tried twisting her neck to catch a glimpse. “Oh,no.”
His thoughts were more of anoh, yes, but he did have to admit it looked funny. And the room service was about to have a lot of fun cleaning the paint off those sheets, too.
“Just to be clear, this wasn’t a complete spell,” she said. “You’re not in any way, cursed, hexed, or enchanted.”
Wasn’t he enchanted, though?
“It was all in good fun—”
“Oh, it was good fun,” he intervened.
“And I don’t put love spells on …” She stammered and blushed at his words. “Yeah. It was fun, wasn’t it?”
Simon scooted closer. It wasn’t the agreement, but if they both liked it, what was there to stop them? He didn’t want just one night. He liked this, liked being him. The Simon who only wanted to tinker with nuts and bolts and wires and make fun stuff out of it, not the Simon who accidentally went on stage that one time and became the face of his company—a name before the man.
