Page 4 of Trickery

She held up the bottle and the chalice. “Wine first, I think.”

He stared at the bottle and a strange expression flickered across his face. It could have been impatience but it could have been something else. Willow didn’t take the time to figure it out. She broke the seal on the potent brew and poured the ruby liquid into the chalice. She passed it to him with both hands.

Oddly enough, he accepted it the same way—with both hands. A snarl of satisfaction, a swelling wave of excitement roared through her as he brought the enchanted cup to his lips. Holding her breath, she tracked his every move.

But then, just as the red liquid was about to touch his lips, just when he was about to become hers, ensorcelled to her completely, he paused. Lowered the glass. “Aren’t you going to have any?”

Willow’s heart stuttered. “I…um…I thought we’d share the glass.”

An enormous grin flooded his expression. “Awesome,” he said. And he lifted the chalice again. And drank.

Hot rivulets of pure sensation scudded down her spine as she watched him. Watched the undulation of his Adam’s apple as he quaffed her powerful potion, drained the cup. Ribbons of sortilege rose, tangled between them, tightened.

He lowered the chalice and her gaze fixated on the red droplet clinging to his lower lip. She longed to lap it up. She bit her cheek as hunger snarled in her womb.

“That was amazing.”

Slowly, his tongue edged out and swept the droplet away.

Dear Gaia. She wanted to lick his lips. Lick him. Consume him. Her body trembled with want.

“Here.” He thrust the chalice at her. “You try some.”

Willow took the cup from him, instinctively taking it with both hands. “I shouldn’t.” No. She really shouldn’t. The potion had been brewed especially for him. There was no telling how it would affect her.

His brow lowered. “Why not?”

“I’ve already tried it.” Yeah. A lame excuse. But he seemed to buy it. He bobbed his head in sheepish agreement.

Hmm. She hadn’t realized these spells might make him stupid. She wasn’t sure what she thought about that. But then she looked at his body, the muscles of his rock-hard abs, barely constrained in that tight tee, his trim waist, his thick muscular denim-clad thighs…and she decided not to care.

“Hey. I have an idea.” Austin’s face was alight, eyes bright, mouth smiling, dimples blossoming. Damn. Damn, damn, damn, he was hot.

“What?”

He settled his warm, heavy palms on her shoulders and bussed her quickly on the lips. She tasted her potion on him. Smelled it. Felt it. A wave of paralyzing lust possessed her.

“Don’t go anywhere. BRB.”

She didn’t go anywhere. Didn’t move a muscle. Couldn’t. She was too consumed with the smell of him. The taste of his lips. The essence of her magic on his breath. Even now it was seeping into his bloodstream, nestling in his cells, pounding through him, surging in his cock.

She stood there, holding her chalice with both hands, so tightly her fingers were white, quivering with hunger for him.

He was back in a flash with a bottle.

“What’s that?”

“My wine. I totally get why you don’t want to try something you’ve already tasted. So try mine instead.” Holding her gaze with his own, he filled the chalice anew. “Go on,” he urged. “Try it. I love this vintage.”

Willow peered down at the wine swirling in her chalice. It was a deep, blood red and danced in the ambient light. She tipped her head and sniffed.

“My heavens.”

She wasn’t much of a wine-o—she usually reserved it for ritual work—but this smelled absolutely delightful.

“It’s a great vintage.” He leaned closer, so close she could see the rings around his irises. “It’s three thousand dollars a bottle.”

“Get out!”