“I am researching.” His voice was low, teasing. “I’m researching how long it takes before you blush when I look at you. Current data suggests about four seconds.”
Color spread across her cheeks. “That’s not—I don’t?—”
“Three seconds that time.” He grinned—actually grinned, and it transformed his face completely. Made him look younger. Lighter. “I’m getting more efficient.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“And yet you’re still wearing my jacket.”
She was. She pulled it tighter around herself, refusing to acknowledge the point. “It’s cold in here.”
“Mm.” He reached out and tugged a strand of her hair gently, playfully. “Must be that.”
“This symbol here.” He leaned over to point at a passage in her book, his arm coming around the back of her chair. Not quite holding her, but close. “It’s a containment sigil, butthe modification—see how it curves at the end? That’s not standard.”
Avine tried to focus on the page instead of the heat of him at her back. “Different magical tradition?”
“Maybe.” His voice was low, thoughtful. Close enough that she could feel the vibration. “The wards on your inn are sea magic. Old sea magic. This sigil is trying to interface with that, but it’s doing it wrong.”
“So our saboteur knows enough to be dangerous but not enough to be competent?”
“That’s what worries me.” He didn’t move away. His hand had come to rest on her shoulder, fingers brushing the curve of her neck. She wasn’t sure he even realized he was doing it. “Incompetent people with powerful magic cause more damage than skilled enemies.”
They worked in silence for a while, the scratch of pages and the distant creak of shelves the only sounds. Avine found herself leaning back into his proximity, her head nearly resting against his shoulder as she read. Natural. Easy. Like they’d been doing this for years instead of weeks.
“Here.” She pulled another text toward them, flipping to a section on ward manipulation. “This discusses how different magical traditions interact when layered. If the inn’s wards are sea witch magic, and someone tried to add a different signature on top…”
She trailed off, distracted by the way Theo had shifted to see the page. His body pressed against her back now. His chin nearly rested on her shoulder. His breath stirred her hair.
“You were saying?” The question was barely a murmur against her ear.
“I was…” She swallowed. “The interference patterns. They match what happened to my wards. Someone was trying to strengthen them, but they used the wrong magical grammar.”
“That’s good.” His arm wrapped around hers, pulling her closer. “That’s really good, Avine.”
She turned her head to respond and found his face inches from hers.
Time stretched. His eyes were storm-gray and intent, focused on her with an intensity that made her breath catch. Three weeks of almost. Three weeks of wanting. Three weeks of finding reasons to touch and excuses to be close and pretending it was all coincidence.
“Theo.” His name came out barely above a whisper.
“Tell me to stop.” His hand rose to cup her face, thumb tracing her cheekbone. “Tell me we’re supposed to be researching and I’ll stop.”
She should. They were in public, in a library run by a fae-touched woman who’d probably turn them both into toads. None of this was simple or safe.
“Don’t stop.”
Theo made a sound—low, rough, hungry—and kissed her.
It wasn’t gentle. Wasn’t tentative. His mouth claimed hers with three weeks of pent-up wanting, his hand sliding into her hair to angle her head where he wanted it. Avine gasped against his lips and he swallowed the sound, deepening the kiss until her head spun.
She twisted in her chair to get closer, her hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him toward her. He came willingly, one hand still in her hair, the other gripping her hip like he was afraid she’d disappear. He tasted like the complicated coffee he’d never admit to drinking—sweet and dark and addictive.
His teeth grazed her bottom lip and she made a sound she’d probably be embarrassed about later. His answering growl vibrated through her, pleased and wanting, and then he was kissing her deeper, harder, like he was trying to memorize the taste of her.
Later. Right now, there was only this. Only him. Only the heat building between them and the desperate need for more. Her fingers found the back of his neck, pulling him closer. His palm pressed against her lower back, drawing her against him.
“If you two are quite finished.”
