And that pretty much snapped her out of it. She drew her hand back whip-quick. Fumbled out an excuse. “You had something in your hair,” she said—and thankfully, it seemed to work. He lost the panicked look, and calmed down enough to follow her into the kitchen. And once there she felt a little more stable. Now they could get to work. She could show him her ideas for new potions.
Then she turned, and realized that he wasn’t into idea-showing right now.
He had brought some goddamn breakfast.
Lots of breakfast, apparently, from what looked like the Spinning Top Diner off Main Street. She watched him lay out folds of omelet, oozing cheese, onto plates. Then biscuits wrapped in paper, rich gravy in a carton, mounds of browned-into-a-crispy- mass hash browns, deliriously spiced pumpkin muffins, coffees that hedescribed as bonfire flavored. And finally, just as she thought he was done: pancakes so soaked in blueberry compote that they came apart when he tried to lift them out of their foil container.
“We can just eat them right out of there, I guess,” he said.
But she wasn’t listening. She couldn’t listen.
The thing was happening again—and this time she had almost no clue why.
Because there was no shock of something sexual here. Or even him looking kind of nice. He was just laying out breakfast. That he had brought specially for her. That he had carefully selected because he knew they were her favorite foods. And without so much as a thought about things she’d always assumed he must have cared about.
Like bullshit about fat girls and calories.
Plus there was the cost. What had this fucking cost?
He barely made any money. This was way too much to spend.
Though it felt no better to her when he explained. “I did a favor for the owner, and so she did a favor for me, so I could do one for you. To say sorry and thank you again,” he said, as she stood there staring at him. Every bit of her sure that she should just be pleasantly pleased, maybe. Or possibly just intent on paying him back.
But somehow instead, she was burning up.
And she had the strongest urge to do another mad thing—like touch him a second time. Because, really, wouldn’t it be fine to do that? Hadn’t he hugged her the night before? That had been okay, so she couldn’t see why not. She could just slip a hand around his waist, and maybe squeeze him a little bit. Get closer to that heat, radiating off him. That gorgeous heat, that amazing heat, like being close to a bonfire, a lovely bonfire, oh, wouldn’t it be okay to just bur—
“Cassie, for the love ofgod.”
She knew what she had done the instant she heard his voice. That strained tone, the words he’d used—he sounded exactly like the day before. And sure enough, it was all over his face when she finally looked. That flush, deep enough to show even through his thick stubble. The heaviness of his eyelids, the heated desperation in his gaze.
And of course he was looking right at her hand.
The one she had thought was hovering in the air, an inch from him. But was actually on his body. It was right on him. And not even anywhere near his waist, either. Fuck no—somehow she’d placed it on his stomach. Low down on his stomach. Really low down.
God, she was almost at his belt.
“Sorry,” she gasped, and snapped her hand away. But she could tell it was already too late. He was shivering all over, gaze heavy. And there was that hint of sharp teeth beneath the curve of his lip. Kept in check, she thought, by the potions. But still a terrible pain to him.
Just like it had been yesterday.
Only without the same recourse.
After all, she couldn’t simplysuggestdirty talk. It had been bad enough when they’d simply stumbled into it. No—she needed another option. Something simpler, and more practical. Like maybe the potion she’d made, in the middle of the night. Half-asleep, but determined to have multiple reasonable ways around whatever was going on.
Though it didn’t feel as reasonable, once she had the tin of it in her hands.
Because now she had to explain what it was, and god, that felt way more awkward than she had imagined it being. She started to say, and fumbled it. Tried again, and trailed off. Then finally, she just tried to make her words sound as cheery as possible.
“Okay. Okay. I can see I have completely messed you up. But don’t worry. Because I made this for you. So you can—you know. See to things,” she said, as she held the tin out. But he just looked confused. And even hornier. And that meant more godforsaken words. “Because I kind of thought, oh maybe if stuff like yesterday happens again, I could just leave you in the kitchen and probably you can safely get down to business. But then what if the kitchen isn’t available? What if you’re somewhere else? What if you’d rather be more comfortable, in, like, a shower or a bed or even on a couch? Or you’re still nervous, and want to be locked up? Well, this will help you consider all of that.”
She smiled brightly, relieved that she had gotten through it without being explicit.
Mission accomplished,she thought.
Only for him to just go ahead and fucking say it anyway. “Cassie, are you seriously telling me you’ve made some kind of magic lube?” he said as he took the tin from her hand. And okay, yeah, she definitely had. But did he really have to spell it out?
She’d been so careful. Now the word was out there, fucking her up.
