She gripped the hem of her nightgown and tied the pen inside it. Hopefully, if Falon managed to escape, he would confiscate the stick, thinking it was the pen. That done, she turned back to him and approached, waving the stick smugly.
Her muscles were sore from that run, and as she walked, her arms, legs, and waist began to fill out, the weight returning. Her breasts swelled, stretching the fabric of the nightgown. At least the pen stayed in place.
Still, some of her smugness disappeared. She didn’t want Falon to see her like this, but she wasn’t going to waste any ink making herself skinny again. Not now, at least. Right now he was too furious to experience desire, no matter what she looked like.
When she reached him, she hid her arms behind her back, as if keeping “the pen” out of his reach. Strands of her red hair blustered forward, stroking his face.
His pupils dilated, black swallowing violet. “You can escape tonight, but I will find you. And when I do, I’m going to take that goddamn pen and make you wish you’d never met me.”
She leaned forward, as though she planned to reveal a big secret. “I already do wish I’d never met you.” His warm breath fanned her cheek, a tender caress, and she had to jerk away from him before she did something stupid. Like suck on his earlobe.
Their gazes locked together, a tangle of emotions.
“Look at you,” she said and tsked under her tongue. “At my mercy.”
He raised his chin. “It won’t always be this way.”
“Like I want to keep you in my life that long. Always. Please.” She snorted. “A few weeks should do it.”
“You think I’ll pretend it never happened? Leave you alone afterward?”
“Well, yeah.” She arched a brow. “Unless you want more of me.”
His eyes narrowed to tiny slits. His features were calm, but the pulse at the base of his neck hammered wildly. “More of you . . . interesting choice of words.” Wind danced between them as his gaze perused her.
Her nipples hardened, and she barely restrained herself from covering them with her hands. Instead, she raised her chin and dared him to say something about her weight. She was surprised when he bit his lower lip, as though he was imagining her taste in his mouth—and liked it.
“Witches should have a code of honor, preventing them from hurting others,” he said softly.
“Here’s an idea. I’ll draft up a witches’ code of honor, and you draft up a how to reject a woman nicely code of conduct. Sound good?”
Shame colored his cheeks.
Gold star for me. Now drive the point deeper. “Let me tell you a little something about me, Falon. I have never had much self-esteem. My sisters are tall and slender, and men have always drooled over them. But not me. Not chubby Glor.” She laughed bitterly. She loved her sisters more than anything on this earth, but they were so perfect, so pretty, that she, who was already vapor, became nothing in comparison. “In the span of five minutes, you managed to destroy what tiny bit of feminine pride I had.”
His shoulders flattened against the trunk, his eyes closed, and he drew in a breath. “I admit it. I handled the situation wrong.”
“Yes, you did. You didn’t have to laugh at me. You could have simply said, ‘No, thank you.’”
“I wasn’t laughing at you. Not really. I just wanted to ensure you never came back. Wait. That sounds just as bad. Look, the truth is, sending you away had nothing to do with your appearance.”
“Oh, please.”
“It didn’t.” His lids popped open, and he was suddenly staring at her with such intensity she had trouble breathing. “You’re a witch.”
There was so much hatred in his voice, she stumbled back. “Yeah. So?”
“So, let’s just say I’m not very fond of witches.”
She snorted, refusing to believe him. “You’ve always been nice to Godiva and Genevieve.”
“I wasn’t . . . attracted to them.” The admission was snarled, more an accusation than anything.
“That’s—” Wait. What? He was attracted to her? Pleasure zoomed through her with such potency she almost fell to her knees. But the sensation lasted only five seconds before common sense reared its ugly head. He’ll say anything to soften you. Even a humiliating lie. Pleasure morphed into searing fury.
Why, that . . . that . . . bastard! Her fingers tightened around the stick, and she had to fight the urge to grab the pen and write a hungry lion into the scene. “So you were attracted to me, were you?” she asked as calmly as she was able.
“What do you think?” he muttered, motioning to his dick with his chin.
She dropped her gaze, staring between his legs with wonder. Okay. Maybe he hadn’t been lying. He was hard, his erection straining against his jeans. “Th-that’s not because of me.” Was it?
“Your nipples are hard, and I can see the outline of fine red hair between your legs. Obviously, you’re not wearing any panties. So yeah, it’s because of you.”
Her mouth floundered open and closed. “Only because I’m the only woman present and you’re probably in heat.” Warmth bloomed in her face as she finally covered her breasts with one arm and between her legs with the other. “So you can just look away!”
“Make me.”
“I’ll take away your sight. Just see if I won’t.”
Finally his gaze snapped back up to her face. “Are you truly that cruel?”
Damn him! He’d zapped her anger with those words, making her feel like the wicked witch Evie had teased her about being. “No. I won’t go that far,” she whispered, as shamed as he’d been a moment ago.
“How far are you going to take it, then?”
She peered down at her bare feet—Ick, time for a pedicure—and kicked a rock with the tip of her toe. “I honestly don’t know.”
Falon clenched his jaw, cutting off any words that might try to escape his mouth. A mouth currently watering for a taste of the woman in front of him. Her curves were a thing of beauty. And with ribbons of moonlight seeping from the canopy of treetops, paying her flawless skin absolute tribute, with that flame red hair dancing like naughty nymphs around her shoulders and her lips glistening from the sting of her teeth, his beast wanted to tame her beauty.
Except, she now appeared defeated.
He hated seeing her like that almost as much as he hated being bound. Almost. Right now, however, he was too primed to feel anything more than desire. He wanted her to reach out, to touch him, kiss him. Suck him.
He was hard as a damn rock and needed to come.
“The night you came to my house in that trench coat,” he said.
Her attention suddenly locked on him and the fire blazing inside him. “The night you screwed that fairy hooker? That night?”
Surprisingly enough, her waspish tone delighted him. “Jealous?”
“As if!”
He hadn’t invited the fairy, whatever her name was, to his house. He’d met her in town earlier that day, had talked and laughed with her, but hadn’t meant to take it further. She was married, for God’s sake. Had Glory not been standing in front of him, he would have sent the fairy away. He liked sex, yes, but he’d never allowed a woman inside his home. They tended to linger, and he liked to do the deed and move on.
In fact, the moment Glory had taken off, he’d sent the pink-skinned fairy packing. Despite the fact that she had offered him apples—off of her body. He hadn’t even touched her. Had just stood at the window, peeking out the blinds like a criminal, hoping for and dreading a reappearance from Glory.
He’d been hard then, too, so maybe he should have slept with the fairy. But it had been flame red hair his hands had wanted to tangle in, hazel eyes he’d wanted to stare into, and a soft, plush body he’d wanted to penetrate.
No one else would have done.
Maybe that was why he hadn’t been able to have sex these past few months. He felt guilty for how he’d hurt Glory, so his body would no longer allow him to respond to other women. Maybe he needed to sleep with her once—or twice—and build up her self-esteem. She’d feel better about herself, he’d stop feeling guilty for the way he’d treated her, and they could both go on with their lives.