If her defenses had been low before, they were hell and gone now, lost beneath the sudden thunder of blood in her veins. She wanted to pull back but couldn’t make herself move; she wanted to look away but his eyes dominated her vision, drawing her in. “Sven?” she said softly, not even sure what she was asking.
“It’s the magic,” he grated. “I used too much earlier and now I can’t… Damn it.”
“You… Oh.” Excitement flared at the realization that she wasn’t the only one whose defenses were low. Except in his case he was trying to block the powerful, sensual magic of a full-fledged—and unmated—Nightkeeper male, the sex magic that kicked in when his other reserves were drained.
He tightened his grip on her hand. “You should go.”
“I know.” But she stayed put, rooted by a sudden urgency that came not from the magic, but from her earlier encounter with Zane and the little voice inside her that sometimes whispered that she was remembering it wrong, that she was looking for something that didn’t really exist outside her girlhood fantasies.
“Seriously. You need to leave.” His free hand came up to touch her cheek and his eyes went dark and intense.
“In a minute. First, I have a confession.” She hesitated. “I wasn’t being entirely honest earlier when I said the kiss was no big deal. It was, though not the way you were thinking. It’s more that I’ve always compared other guys to what I felt that day. But lately I’ve been wondering… what if that wasn’t that great?” Though the way her pulse was throbbing now suggested that the sparks had been real and, more, that the attraction had persisted despite the many times he’d disappointed her.
His eyes darkened, but instead of arguing, he rasped, “Last chance to leave, Cara.”
But the pressure of his hands drew her toward him instead, overriding the part of her that said she should stop, pull back, think this through. “I don’t want to,” she said, though her voice nearly cracked on the words. “I want you to kiss me instead, like before. One kiss, and then you ride off and don’t look back.” That was what made the experiment okay, the knowledge that he wouldn’t be around for long. “I want—”
“Time’s up.” Eyes flaring with a wildness that set fire to her blood, he moved in on her, curled his fingers around her hips, and kissed her.
Dear gods in the sky, he kissed her. And she had her answer.
As a teenager, she had kissed him and felt sparks. Now, as an adult, there were fireworks, lightning, and more. The sensations seared through her, making her head spin and forcing her to clutch at his arms to keep her balance in a world gone suddenly off-kilter.
She had kissed plenty of guys, slept with a few, and had enjoyed herself just fine, but where before she had wondered why some of her friends put up with bad relationships to get good loving, now she understood. Because as he pulled her into his body so they were touching from hip to brow, curled together as if they truly fit, desire overran her thinking like it never had before.
She reveled in the press of his muscles and the hard ridge of his erection through the soft, yielding fleece of his sweats, and ran her hands over him, kneading as he kissed slowly, deeply, thoroughly. He didn’t ask; he took. He didn’t seduce; he demanded. And she went weak and pliant against him. Heat thrummed, coalescing in her core, wetting her and making her want. Her breasts were heavy and aching, demanding that she rub against him, and a moan rolled from the back of her throat when he reached to cup one of them and stroke his thumb across a peaked nipple. Gods.
She dragged her teeth along his lower lip, nipped his chin, and he growled and reclaimed her mouth in a dark, hot kiss that had her swaying against him, needing him. Their breathing synched, their flavors mingled, and what little coherent thought remained inside her centered on a single word: more. She wanted more of the kiss, more of his touch on her body, more of his skin against hers. She reached for the zipper of his sweatshirt, wanting to touch his skin, taste it, and—
Zzziip. The sound was loud and shocking in a room gone silent except for their breathing, and it jolted her back to reality. She jerked away. Oh, gods. She had been kissing Sven. Devouring him. Another few minutes—or a quieter zipper—and she might’ve been naked with him.
Naked. With Sven.
A sharp burst of desire lashed through her, but then turned to a flush of something that wasn’t quite horror, but was close. And in his eyes, she saw the same progression, the same endpoint of, What in the hell are we doing?
They let go of each other, opening their hands in mirrored moves of not touching you, and she backed away. Her heart thundered in her ears; her breath rasped in her lungs, quick with excitement and a burgeoning fight-or-flight response that said to run, to get the hell out of there and not look back.
But that would be admitting that she couldn’t handle herself—couldn’t handle him—and she wasn’t about to do that. So she exhaled softly and said, “Well. That answers that question with a resounding, ‘Yes, it really can feel that good.’ Now I just need to find that kind of chemistry with a guy who isn’t allergic to boundaries.”
His eyes darkened. “Cara—”
“Don’t.” She held up a hand. “Please.” She didn’t want to know that what they had just felt was more than good chemistry, more than sparks on steroids. “Just leave it, okay? What happened here… it didn’t mean anything, doesn’t change anything. Besides, a hundred bucks says you’ll be out of here in a few days.” She forced a thin-feeling smile. “Dez isn’t going to let you and Mac lounge around here for long.”
He didn’t return the smile. “What if we stayed put?”
Back in the day, she would’ve given anything for the offer. Now she couldn’t let it matter. “Don’t, at least not on my account, not thinking that something could happen between us.”
“I’m pretty sure it just did.” His low words threatened to send a zing of renewed excitement through her bloodstream. She was highly conscious of the way his unzipped shirt hung open, baring his torso. The play of light and shadow on that warm-toned skin, along with the burn in her blood and the taste of him on her lips, made her want to touch him, lick him, pick up where they had left off and never stop.
Bad idea.
“Maybe, but it’s not going to happen again.” She backed away a couple more steps, putting herself closer to the door and far enough from him that she couldn’t feel the warmth of his body against her skin. “Even if we were any good for each other, the last thing I want to do is give the winikin another reason to dislike me. Which means staying away from you for the next three months.”
“And after that?”
“If we make it past the zero date, I’m cutting ties and getting out of here. I’m going to give myself a fresh start”—she met his eyes—“maybe even a new identity.” She didn’t think she could make it any plainer than that. She didn’t want to be a winikin, didn’t want to stay in touch with the Nightkeepers, didn’t even want the last two members of her crumpled family to be able to find her. She would be alone, adrift… and, for the first time in her life, entirely free. And, gods, it sounded glorious.
At the same time, though, sadness struck her as she looked at him, knowing that when they said good-bye after the war, it would be for good. Always before, he’d been the one taking off. Soon it would be her turn, gods willing.
He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, quietly, he said, “You deserve to be happy, Cara. If starting over is what it’s going to take, then do it.” There was an echo of grief in his voice, banked resignation in his eyes. Those two emotions were so foreign to the guy he used to be that she almost reached out to comfort him.
She didn’t, though, because this wasn’t about her being a winikin. It was about being her own person, damn it. So she met his eyes and refused to acknowledge the ache. “I won’t be starting over. I’ll be learning how to be me for the first time in my life.”