Slowly, Glory eased back in her seat. Slowly, she grinned, though the expression lacked any type of humor. “I think something can be arranged. For you,” she added, eyeing Falon, “not her.”
“Please,” Kayla said at the same time he said, “Fine. I understand.” He was thinking, Finally!
As she reached inside her purse, Falon added, “Oh, and Glory?”
“Yes?” Grin feral, she lifted the pen and tapped it against her chin—to taunt him, he wouldn’t doubt. Fire still raged in her eyes.
Are you really going to do this? He peered at her heaving chest, her dilated pupils, her lush, red lips. Hell, yes. “Since I’m doubting you have the courage to write yourself into the scene, I guess I’ll see you when I get back.”
Her eyelids narrowed, and she lost her grin.
He barely stopped himself from laughing. See you there, baby.
Seven
He wanted her to write them both into a scene, an oddity on its own. He hadn’t seemed to mind the thought of his precious Kayla being given to another man; he had seemed more interested in Glory. Glory knew all of those shocking things, but she didn’t understand them.
Why had he fought for magic to be used against him? Why had he antagonized her?
Did the reason matter? she thought next. She was at home, alone in her room, and she was going to use the pen. Not to punish Falon—though she wanted to do so. He’d taken another woman to dinner. A beautiful, slender woman. No, Glory was doing this to be with him, to have him to herself. She’d simply used punishment and anger as an excuse.
When will I learn?
She’d tried to stay away from him. She’d ignored his phone calls, hadn’t ventured near his house. She’d even walked out of a room anytime he had been mentioned. She feared falling so deeply in love with him, she’d never recover. As she’d once told him, they could never trust each other. But she was still going to do this. She craved him, and the craving wasn’t going away.
Despite all of her reasons for avoiding him before, she couldn’t stop herself now. She needed to shove him from her thoughts and dreams, and nothing else had worked. Why not give this a shot and experience another dose of that heady pleasure while she was at it? She’d do her best to guard her heart. Oh, oh. Maybe she could take an antilove potion.
She was nodding as she popped to her feet. Antilove. Of course! There was nothing she could do about the emotions she harbored now. Once there, they were immune to magic. But she could prevent herself from falling for Falon completely.
Clothes and trash soared through the air as she crouched on the floor and rooted through them. Every vial she found, she set aside. Love potion Number Nine. Love potion Number Thirteen.
A magic suppressor. A magic unleasher. Ah, finally.
Straightening, she raised a tiny bottle of swirling, azure liquid. There was a warning label in the center.
“Take with food,” she read. “May cause dizziness. If you become sick, consult your nearest witch.”
She’d given the potion to hundreds of women but had never sampled the goods herself. There’d been no need. The recipe had been designed by her great-grandmother and was now used in every spell book she’d ever encountered. It had to work. No one had ever complained.
“Here goes nothing.” Glory popped the cork and drained the contents. Tasteless but smooth. A minute passed. Nothing happened. Another minute. Still nothing. She tossed the empty bottle over her shoulder. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to feel anything.
Frowning, she swiped up the pen and a notebook and plopped onto the side of her bed. What was Falon doing right now? Was he at home with Kayla? Waiting for Glory to act?
What was the couple doing to pass the time?
“Grr!”
Unable to wait any longer, Glory began writing: Falon is alone in his house, unable to leave. That took care of Kayla. Glory’s frown faded. She wouldn’t make him battle anyone like he’d suggested. That would make her admire him more. Even the image was dangerous. Falon. With a sword. Her mouth watered.
She’d get straight to the sex. Do him and forget him. His clothing suddenly disappears, leaving him naked. As the ink stained the paper, she had trouble drawing in a breath. Her hand was shaking.
Glory appears—
No. She scratched out those two words. Falon was now alone and naked. She couldn’t just appear in front of him looking like this.
Glory weighs one hundred and fifteen pounds and is wearing a lacy, emerald green bra and panty set.
One moment she was draped in the black dress her sister had given her, the next, cool air was kissing her bare skin. Glory looked down. Sure enough, her small, perky breasts were pushed up by emerald lace. Her stomach and legs were thin and glorious. She grinned and kept writing.
Falon is chained to his bed, and Glory suddenly appears in front of him, pen and notebook in hand.
Glory’s messy bedroom faded to black, and then Glory was lying against cool, silky sheets. Cold metal anchored her wrists and ankles in place, her pen and notebook gone. A white chiffon flowed overhead, like a cloud descending from heaven.
“What the hell?” She tugged at her arms. The chains rattled but didn’t budge.
Suddenly Falon approached the side of the bed, the pen and notebook in his hands. He looked at Glory, and his eyes widened. He looked at the contraband he was holding, and he grinned.
“It worked,” he said, shocked. “It really worked.”
Her struggles increased. “What worked? What happened? What did you do to me?” What the hell was going on?
He was naked, and his tanned body was magnificent. Rope after rope of muscle, traceable sinew, and a long, hard erection. A glittering necklace hung from his neck.
She looked away from the sheer majesty of him, struggled some more.
“Be still,” he said.
“Go to hell!” The metal began to cut into her skin, drawing warm beads of blood.
Falon tsked under his tongue. He strode out of the bedroom, leaving her alone.
“Falon!” she cried. Panic infused every corridor of her body. “Don’t leave me like this! Come back.”
He returned a moment later, the pen and notebook gone. In their place were strips of cloth. “Be still,” he ordered again, sharply this time.
She obeyed. She was panting, skin overly hot. At least he’d covered himself with a robe, blocking all that male deliciousness from her view. “What’s going on? How did you do this? You don’t have any powers.”
He eased beside her, and the mattress jiggled. She tried to scoot away, but the chains didn’t allow her to go very far. “No, I don’t have powers. But I do have a friend who is dating a witch who wants her sister happy.”
Her jaw went slack. “Evie helped you?”
Leaning forward and wafting the scent of man and dark spice to her nose, Falon began wrapping the cloth underneath the chains, protecting her skin. Do not soften. She’d taken the antilove potion. She shouldn’t have to warn herself to remain distant, but the potion wasn’t freaking working.
“Hunter questioned Evie about the pen,” he finally explained. “Apparently, Evie failed to tell you that she had a charm to counteract the effects of it.”
“I don’t understand.” Come closer, keep touching me. She had to bite her lip to keep the words inside.
“Anything negative you wrote about the person wearing the charm would be done to you instead.”
Shock sliced through her, as hot as he was. “That’s—that’s—”
“What happened. Hunter also emptied out your potions and replaced them with colored water. Just in case you tried to feed me one.”
So that was why . . . “That little jackass!” No wonder the antilove potion hadn’t worked. Now she was helpless, on her own. The knowledge should have panicked her all the more. Instead, she found herself praying his robe would split, and she would be able to see his nipples. Maybe lick them.
“I had wondered what kind of scene you would write, and
must admit I’m surprised by what you chose. I expected hungry lions or a raging, bloody battle and thought I would have to pluck you from its midst. I’d even draped myself in armor, just in case. Then that armor disappeared and I began to hope . . .”
Her cheeks flamed; they were probably glowing bright red. She tried to cover her embarrassment by snapping, “Why didn’t my clothing disappear instead? Since you have the charm and all.”
“The removal of clothing isn’t negative.” His head tilted to the side, and his gaze roved over her. He frowned. “Why do you write yourself like that?”
“Like what?”
“So . . . thin.”
“Because,” was all she said. Because I want to be pretty for you.
“I like you better the other way.”
“Liar. Now write me out of this scene!”
He shook his head. “Hell, no. I’ve got you right where I’ve always wanted you. And I’m not a liar. In fact, I refuse to touch you while you’re like this. When you’re back to normal, then the loving can begin.”
A tremor rocked her. She didn’t dare hope . . . “The chains will disappear by then, too, and if you think I’m staying here, you’re crazy.”
“You can be rechained.”
Good point. “The pleasuring will never begin, because I’ve decided I don’t want you.”
“Now who’s lying?” He pulled a plush lounge next to the bed and sat, gaze never leaving her. “I’ll make a pact with you. I won’t lie to you, if you won’t lie to me. From now on, we’ll be completely honest with each other. Okay?”
“Whatever you say,” she said in a sugar-sweet tone.
“So what do you think of my bedroom?”
“It’s—” She’d been about to say something mean, but then her sights snagged on the crystal chandelier, dripping with thousands of teardrops. On the intricately carved dresser, orchids spilling from vases. A bejeweled tray provided the centerpiece. “Unexpected,” she finally finished.
“Everything inside the house was a gift from my brother.”
Her head snapped toward him. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”
Falon nodded, his hair dancing over his cheeks. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, but that’s going to change. We’re going to get to know each other, Glory.”
“No.” That would defeat the purpose of loving and leaving. If he continued this, she would leave, but she would not be unscathed.
“Oh, yes,” he insisted. “And every time you reveal a fact about yourself, you’ll earn a reward.”
Goose bumps spread over her skin. “And if I remain quiet?”
Slowly, he grinned. “You’ll earn a punishment. I have the pen, after all.”
This is not fun. This is not exciting. I am not turned on. “Fine. Tell me how many women you’ve had in here.” There. That should deepen—dampen—her terrible—wonderful—mood.
“You are the first.”
She flashed him a scowl. “I thought we weren’t going to lie to each other anymore.”
“I spoke true. You are the first woman I’ve ever allowed inside this bedroom.”
“What about the fairy? That night—”
He held up a hand for silence. “I sent her home the moment you were out of sight.”
Seriously? Glory didn’t know whether or not to believe him, but she adored the idea of his claim. “What about Kayla?”
“Sent her home, too. I didn’t want her; I wanted you. As you might have guessed, I used her to get your attention.”
“Well, you got it,” she grumbled, then cringed at the admission.
“I noticed you the first day I moved into town, you know,” he said.
He’d noticed her? In a good way? She shivered, feeling as if his hands were already on her, caressing, stoking her desire.
“Cold?” he asked.
She nodded, because she didn’t want to admit his words had ignited a storm of desire inside her.
He rose, grabbed the black silk comforter, and tugged it over her. The material was cool against her skin, but damn it, it didn’t dampen her need. No, it increased it. Every nerve ending she possessed cried for him.
Falon placed a soft kiss on her lips. Automatically she opened her mouth to take it deeper. He pulled away.
A moan slipped from her.
“Soon,” he said as he reclaimed his seat. His voice was tense. “Now, back to the first time I saw you. You were outside with your sisters and selling your potions. At the time, I didn’t know they were potions. I just saw a beautiful woman with rosy skin and hair like flame.”
She gulped, couldn’t speak.
“I wanted you so badly.” As he spoke, his fingertip caressed her thigh. “I was making my way toward you when I heard the words ‘potion’ and ‘witch,’ and then I couldn’t get away from you fast enough.”
Maybe he was telling the truth about his desire for her. Maybe he did like her just the way she was. Maybe . . .
“I never tortured anyone until I met you,” she admitted softly.
His head tilted to the side, and he studied her intently, violet eyes blazing. “Why me?”
“Because,” was all she said.
“Glory.”
Just tell him. She sighed. “Because I wanted you, and I knew I couldn’t have you.”
“You wanted me?” he asked huskily.
“You know I did.” She watched him from the corner of her eye. He leaned back and stretched his legs out and up, the robe falling away and revealing his strong calves. There were calluses on the bottoms of his feet, as if he often ran through the forest without shoes on. Made her wonder if he wore any clothes at all. Her stomach quivered with the thought.
“Tell me about the first time you noticed me. Please.”
Like she could deny him anything now. She thought back to that fateful day, and the quiver in her stomach became a needy ache. Well, another needy ache. She was consumed with them. He’d been moving boxes into this very house. She and her sisters had walked here to welcome him to town. When he spotted them, he’d frozen. Introductions had been made, and he’d smiled coolly but politely at Evie and Godiva. Glory, he’d simply nodded at before looking hastily away.
“I thought you were the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. The sun was shining over you lovingly, and you were sweating. Glistening. You’d taken off your shirt, and dirt smudged your chest.”
His lips twitched. “I’ve noticed you have a thing for manly sweat.”
“I do not.”
“You placed me in a gladiator cell straight from battle, woman. You like men who do physical labor. Admit it.”
“So what! There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“No, there isn’t. It’s cute.” He didn’t give her time to respond. “So why did you want to place me in chains tonight?”
She fought for breath. “You know why.”
“Tell me. Say the words aloud.”
“I—I’d decided to be with you. Just once. You know, to purge myself of you like you suggested before.”
“And you thought you needed chains for that?”
“No. I just . . . I wanted to be in control of everything.”
“I don’t think so,” he said with a shake of his head. “In the forest, you almost came when I pinned your wrists over your head and took control away from you. Right now, your nipples are hard, and your skin is besieged by goose bumps. You like where you are.”
Her mouth dried as the realization settled inside her. He was right. She loved where she was. She loved that he could do anything he wanted with her, and she couldn’t stop him. Didn’t want to stop him.
Would one night be enough? She couldn’t possibly learn all there was to know about his body, his pleasure . . . her own.
Oh, damn. Already she was doing what she’d sworn she wouldn’t: falling deeper, wanting more. Fear dug sharp claws inside her. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” she said, squirming. “Maybe we should stop here and now and part. As friends. I wo
n’t hurt you again. You have my word. And you even can keep the pen.”
“Oh, I’m keeping the pen,” he said darkly, “but I’m not letting you go.” He pushed to his feet. He was scowling.
“You’re angry. Why? I’m setting you free from our war.”
“I hate the thought of you walking out of this house—ever—and I don’t understand it.” The robe fell from his shoulders and onto the floor, pooling at his feet. She sucked in a breath and simply drank in his magnificence. He was harder than before, his erection so long it stretched higher than his navel.
He grabbed the pen and notebook and started writing. Before she could ask what he was doing, the chains fell away from her. Tentative, she eased up. But she didn’t leave; she couldn’t make herself, though common sense was screaming that she do so inside her mind. This was what she’d asked for.
“Thank you.”
Fight for me. Wait. What? No.
“Not yet.” He continued writing.
Quick as a snap, her weight returned, her bra and panty set nearly unraveling from the sudden excess. She gasped. Falon finally paused, his electric violet eyes all over her, eating her up.
Never taking his gaze from her, he locked the pen and paper inside a drawer on the nightstand, and then he was on the bed, crawling his way toward her.
Eight
Falon had never wanted a woman the way he wanted Glory.
What was it about her that kept him coming back for more, despite her origins? Despite her actions and her words? She was exquisite, yes. Lush and soft, panting with arousal. She smelled of jasmine and magic, which was a feast to his senses. She was vulnerable yet courageous, daring and volatile. She had never and would never bow to him. She would fight him if he wronged her and always demand the very best from him.
He liked that. Liked who he was when he was with her. She made him be a better person. Honest and giving. Hopeful. And now that he thought about it, everything she’d done to him with that pen hadn’t been malicious, it had been . . . foreplay.
His skin was nearly too tight for his bones as he stopped, his palms flattened beside Glory’s knees. “Still want to leave?”