But more than that, he wanted her to insult him, argue with him, provoke him fearlessly as no other woman had ever dared. Even Cecilia, who wasn’t scared of him, didn’t go out of her way to cause tension between them. But Charlotte Pettifer seemed to find tension as thrilling as he did. She utterly disrespected his reputation, and he liked her for it.
A week ago, he’d have thought such a thing impossible. A week ago, a witch was to him the sort of woman who’d steal a husband, smirk ata wife’s funeral, and thrash a child with such regularity that even years later he kept at least one weapon to hand in case it might be needed for defense. He’d always supposed he’d drown a witch if he had her in his hands within proximity of a lake. To not only have saved this one, but even now, crouching beside her on the rain-washed shore, to be wanting his mouth on hers again, his fingers pressing into the lush softness of her skin—it bewildered him. And Alex did not like bewilderment. He liked smug certainty and hitting things with his sword.
He glanced at Charlotte. Even on her knees in the mud and drizzling rain, coughing up lake water, she looked entirely proper, as if there was only one right way to recover from near-drowning and she had mastered it. God, but he wanted to make her messy in the most licentious manner.
With a sigh, he got to his feet and held out a hand to her. She looked at it darkly. “You do realize my amulet is getting even farther away while we waste time with shenanigans?” she said.
“You do realize my house has made an emergency landing I don’t know where?” he answered.
Her expression sobered. She reached for his hand. “I hope Bixby will be all right.”
“I’m sure he’s fine.” Alex hauled her to her feet. She stumbled against him, and as their eyes met, it was as if they fell all over again. He caught her with an arm around her back and was kissing her hard, even before she could force him to.
The rain, a mere sprinkle until now, tapping shyly on the lake, burst forth suddenly like a diva in a feather boa bursting through stage curtains, as if inspired by their passion. It poured from their hair and eyelashes and slicked their kiss. A shadowed wind gasped cold between them, but they were burning inside. They were a dangerous storm that promised mutual electrocution if they did not stop. Finally, Charlotte pulled away, pressing the back of her wrist against her mouth.
“What atrocious behavior!” she said, although it wasn’t clear exactly to whose behavior she referred.
“It was medicinal,” Alex replied. “Your lips were turning blue. I thought it wise to warm you rapidly.”
She almost huffed, but he watched her stop herself in time, settling dignity over her face and standing taller for all the world, as if she were in a reception room, dressed in silk and pearls, rather than on the dirty, rain-beaten shore of a lake, wearing a man’s shirt that had turned so transparent the delicate lace of her camisole could be seen, and beneath that—
He hauled his gaze upward and found her glaring at him.
“I have never met a more aggravating man,” she said. “If I didn’t need to abduct you in order to recover my amulet, I would gladly never see you again.”
Alex laughed in astonishment. “Abduct me? Madam, I assure you, I am not abducted. I would leave at this very moment if you weren’t a fragile female lost God knows where in a downpour, vulnerable to—”
She yanked his arm suddenly, tucked her leg around his, and flung him to the ground.
It would have been a great triumph for her—except he grabbed her coat as he tumbled, and she went down too, smacking against him. He rolled them over so he was lying atop her, heavy against her softness. Instantly his body reacted. He could see she felt it, but that she did not understand exactly what it meant. Strange that such a competent woman could be so innocent. The thought aroused him even more, and he decided for safety’s sake to get off her. But suddenly, without warning, she lifted her head and kissed him.
He inhaled sharply, nerves flashing.
It was only a brief, soft kiss, making him think of a kitten lashing out with claws so tiny they barely tickled. Alex had never before experienced such an intoxicating mix of lust and sweetness.
“You are a tyrant, Charlotte Pettifer,” he said against her mouth.
“You are a fiend.”
He kissed her back, although neither soft nor sweet. Their tongues tangled. Their ankles tangled. She twisted hers, and in the scuffle managed to tip him off her. With a leap, she was on her feet again and drawing forth the vicious little multipurpose device.
Alex lay on the ground and grinned up at her. “Do it,” he said. “Go on, do it.”
She flicked the device and there was a sharp click as an implement sprung out.
Alex considered the teaspoon a moment, then laughed. Flushing, Charlotte snapped it shut and brought forth the rapier.
He licked his lips. Getting up slowly, he held her gaze. She swallowed—for he really was very big and scary. He drew his sword from its scabbard.
Her eyes widened.
“I suggest you give up and let me take you to safety,” he said, raising the sword.
She followed it up with her gaze, then looked back at him. He realized then it wasn’t fear in her eyes, but exhilaration.
“Aereo,”she said. The incantated word levitated her several feet off the ground. “I suggest you give up and let me steal your house.”
“That’s not going to happen, sweetheart.”
