Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
I opened my eyes and searched his face. “Really?”
“Yes, really. I just needed to get my bearings, but, Xan, I swear, I want us to be a thing. Don’t doubt that.”
I sighed deep and long. “I want that too.”
“Then let me take care of you.”
So I did.
He was so gentle as he used my wooden comb and my conditioner, then scrubbed me from head to toe, missing nothing. When I was done, he had me get out as he washed himself. I stood there watching him, saw how rough he was with himself in contrast to how tender he’d been with me.
Once he was out, he dried us both, but before he could move away, I put my hands on him, stilling his motion. His eyes were soft as he watched me grab oil from my sink, pour some into my hands, and run them all over him. He didn’t ask what I was doing, just trusted, and once I had it everywhere, on his face, his neck, back, chest, arms, legs, I pointed to the bed. By the time he lifted the covers, the oil had absorbed into his skin, and I liked seeing his surprise at that. His slow, lazy smile made me shiver.
“How? What is this? More magic?”
“Just good ingredients,” I teased him, thinking of all the things that went into my grandmother’s oil. “And I’m going to start taking care of you from right now. Every part.”
“Okay,” he said, grinning at me. “I accept.”
He watched as I stood by the fire and coated myself in the same oil, as I always did. “It’s very sexy when it’s going on you.”
I grunted. “Well, you’re beautiful, and all I want to do is touch you,” I confessed.
“And you’re gold all over,” he husked, his voice rough and ragged. “And all I want is you under me.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “Good. Let’s do that now. I have a different kind of oil for—”
“Get in bed,” he directed me.
As I hung things up and turned off the lights, he crawled naked into my bed. I followed quickly, the only light in the room coming from the fire.
“Do we have to put out the fire in the hearth?”
“No, the house will watch the hearth.”
“Is the house watching us?” he whispered playfully.
“Yes,” I replied honestly.
“Hopefully it doesn’t shock easily,” he murmured, reaching for me. “I mean, you know, for when we get it on.”
“And when will that be?”
“When you’re not going to pass out on me,” he whispered playfully.
I was chuckling as I snuggled in tightly against his chest, loving the feel of his warm skin on mine.
“I dreamed about this,” he whispered.
I wanted to say, Don’t ever leave me, but I swallowed down the words. “Please stay.”
“Not going anywhere,” he rumbled, and breathed in and then out, deeply, settling, and I could hear how bone-weary he was. It was a lot, what he’d been through today, even for a seasoned cop from the big city.
Draped across his chest, I heard the beat of his heart, and I couldn’t remember ever feeling so content or safe.
NINE
Most people believed that dreams were just that, offering a glimpse into your psyche as you slept. I’d read somewhere that no one new ever appeared in your dreams that you hadn’t actually met in real life. But I’d dreamed about Jennifer Aniston on more than one occasion and never crossed paths with the actress ever. That part, I suspected, was crap.
For witches, and I was betting for many others, dreams were places where the dead could visit, crossing the veil easily during that time to answer questions, offer guidance, or point out something obvious that had been missed. I liked to dream and always hoped that my grandparents, or my parents, whom I knew only vaguely, as they’d both passed in a car accident when I was barely two, would visit.
I always knew I was dreaming because there were odd things that made little sense. Right now, I was riding across Corvus on a tandem bicycle with my grandmother, Enedina Corey, in front of me. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, and she looked amazing, laughing, with her long brown hair flowing behind her and tickling my face. She kept looking over her shoulder and smiling at me, and I was yelling at her to watch where she was going. What was weird, other than us riding so easily across the countryside, was that she had never ridden a bike in her life as far as I knew, and her clothes were like something from the 1880s, petticoats and all. In fact, she looked like she should be on a penny-farthing and have a weird hat. When we stopped, having nearly plowed into a huge angel oak I knew was near the rift site, we were both laughing.