Lochlainn leaned into Keeffe’s space, voice dropping. “Should have warned me about that one. She’s a fecking menace.” Then he motioned a hand at Finley, some Luckman signal.
Keeffe, on the other hand, hadn’t heard a word he said, his eyes still super glued to the back of the room where Aine disappeared.
My lips pulled up. A menace,that she was.
Lochlainn caught my amusement and walked over, narrowing his eyes, darting them between Pogue and myself.
“Forgot to ask—how’s training going?”
My eyebrows hit the top of my head. “Training? You mean that thing where Pogue shows up, growls instructions at me, then disappears?” I paused, letting it dramatically hang in the air. “Oh, that? Yeah, that’s going real great!”
Pogue gave me a flat look.
“You’re supposed to be training her!” Lochlainn scolded.
“I am,” Pogue dryly stated. He casually tamed his dark hair, smoothing it back with a hand.
“You tricked me into hiking alone for two freaking hours! I nearly broke an ankle . . .twice!” I tried to sound angry, but the buzz of the drinks was catching up and making my mind soft.
“That was a test. One which youfailed.” The corners of his eyes pinched, striking me in place.
“What are you talking about? You left me!” I shot back.
Pogue took a step forward, invading my space.
Midnight. He smelled like a cool, crisp autumn night. I wanted to run my tongue all over that scent—try and taste it. Campfire. Earthen leaves tumbling. Warm hands through a cold breeze . . .
“I was there the whole time.” Those grumbling words snapped me out of my lust-filled daze.
“What?” I said.
“I. Was. There,” he annunciated, belittling. “I was in the woods flanking you. Trailing your every move. Not once did you tap into your powers to sense me. Let alone, use any survival instincts to look around to notice someone was stalking you!” Angry eyes seared mine. “It was a test. And you failed . . .miserably.”
Lochlainn scoffed, “Bloody fates, Pogue! This isn’t feckin’ wilderness scouting. Just train the bird!” A glare was fired, loaded with restrained anger that seemed to go beyond what we were talking about. Then, he sauntered away.
He was there? Oh god,he was there.
I was going to die of humiliation. Every time my clumsy footing had me eating dirt, every time I tripped on my own sneakers, almost breaking an ankle, every colorful swear I used to curse Pogue’s name over and over—limp-dick, shadow-sucking, pretty-boy—all crashed back in a wave of embarrassment.
There may have even been a moment after maneuvering over a boulder that I had toreadjustmy underwear from being sucked up my ass.
Heat flushed my cheeks.
Pogue tilted his head, amused, as if he could smell my humiliation rising.
Then, his scent hit me again. The potion latched hold, boiling my innards with desire. It was whipping me around like a whirlpool. I should want to yell. Should want to jab hiseyes out for being such a prickly asshole. But my temperature was rising, heat creeping up my neck. The ache between my legs worsened with each sweep of his eyes that lingered over my lips. I was being tortured. Sheer, confusing, hellish torture.
“Kiss or Doom!” The bartender’s voice sounded far away, muffled. “Finley here, has three minutes to find a lucky pair of lips or else he dooms us all to suffer the consequences!” He maniacally laughed. “Dance floor splitting? Instantaneous mass illness? Only the magic’ll decide. So I suggest ya pucker up fast!”
Eager, giggling voices shouted in volunteer.
I was too lost in the quicksand of the spell, intensely studying Pogue’s beautiful, cruel face. I’d completely drowned out the background noise.
Curse this blasted Liplock potion. I needed to put an end to it. Now.
I spun around to Pogue, eyes begging and desperate.
His face changed noticing my agony, mouth opening in silent question. But not before I opened mine.
