Page 61 of The Guardian's Curse

“Every bit as beautiful as I imagined,” he said roughly.

“Thank you,” she murmured. She let out a soft laugh. “That was incredible.”

“I’m glad.” His lips brushed her brow. “Thank you.”

“For what? I think you did all the work.”

He laughed softly. “For not giving up on me when I was so unpleasant.”

“I think you made your case with the red velvet cake,” she teased. Though she couldn’t see him, his body was practically wrapped around her. It was the best she’d felt in ages.

“So the red velvet was your favorite? I suspected as much,” he said.

“Hands down,” she said. “I ate the rest of it for breakfast.” Sliding her hand flat, she found the curve of his neck, then a stray lock of hair. Despite his harsh features and rough skin, his hair was thick and silky soft. “But I’ll take this after dinner over cake any day.”

“You’re being too kind.”

Still twining that lovely hair around her finger, she hesitated. “Maybe six days a week. Cake one night. The red velvet was pretty damn good.”

At that, he actually laughed, a full-throated sound that filled her with a bubbling joy. A shrill beep interrupted her dreamy haze. He kissed her brow again, then eased away. “I’m afraid it’s time for me to retire.”

She groaned. “Can’t we just pull the curtains? I want you to stay.”

“I wish it were that convenient. When daylight comes, I’ll be weak, and I’d prefer to give you my best,” he said. His fingers splayed over her thigh, holding her tight to him as he kissed her neck again. “I will dream of you. And when night falls again, I will come to you.”

“That’s a promise?”

“A promise.”

15

When the sun set and the first gentle chimes of his alarm roused Alistair Thorne from his rest, he was reluctant to shake off his blissful dream. He and Shoshanna wandered through a lush vineyard, with her long white dress billowing behind her. The sun shone on both of them, and he felt the warmth of her presence, the warmth of daylight so clearly that he could have sworn it was real. And just as he lifted her off her feet, laying her in a soft field of grass to make love to her, the sound of technology ruined it.

He groaned as reality set in. Slowly, his eyes focused on his dark bedroom and the dim lamp in the hall. Instead of the usual scents of laundry and soap, the air smelled faintly of vanilla. Shoshanna’s scent still clung to him. The realization energized him, like a shot of sheer adrenaline. The dream had been lovely, but there was the witch in flesh and blood, somewhere above him. He could still taste her on his lips.

His cock twitched at the mere thought of her. He took a long, hot shower, careful to scrub every inch of himself so that she would find him appealing. But his anticipation turned to loathing when he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass doors of the shower. She ruined you, Franziska’s voice echoed. She made a monster of you.

But instead of turning away, he raised his head and glared at the red-eyed creature. Perhaps he was a monster, but Shoshanna wanted him.

Mine, he’d told Paris, as if he had the right to claim her. And Paris, who he had long trusted and loved, had told him to make his move. Many years ago, Paris had told him Franziska was trouble, and he was right. Paris had told Alistair he was an idiot to push him away, and he was right about that, too.

And he wanted Paris to be right this time, that he couldn’t be sure what Shoshanna wanted. That maybe he was worthy of her regard.

Somehow, Shoshanna saw something else. And whatever she thought of him, her desire was pure honesty. Her lust for him crackled like electricity in the air. That kind of hunger was something he had not experienced in many years.

He hesitated with a hooded shirt. Did he dare show himself? That was an act of bravery he could not handle just yet.

He growled and yanked the shirt over his head, tugging the hood up. Fear stitched through him as he ascended the stairs. Her warm scent grew stronger as he climbed the stairs and approached Lucia’s alcove. Shoshanna sat on a cushion at her feet, completely absorbed in her work.

A loose black shirt hung off one shoulder, baring the lovely brown skin to the hazy lamplight. Her bouncy curls were barely tamed by a headband, and a pencil was stuck behind her ear.

He was content to watch her from the shadows. Geometric designs covered several large pieces of paper on the floor. Next to the drawings were strands of black string lying in piles. As she worked, she turned to her side to examine a square panel of light wood. Dozens of tiny nails were already hammered into its surface, with tangles of string connecting them in a strange pattern.

She placed a nail, then hammered it in with a few sharp raps. He jolted at the sudden noise, then watched her carefully wind a strand of string around the nail. She pulled it into place beneath another string, then cursed.

“Shit,” she murmured, unwinding it. She made a series of gestures over the panel, as if she was weaving invisible threads. Then she moved the thread, twisting it around two other threads before securing it. “Hmm.”

Her intelligence was absolutely ferocious. He could practically see the fire burning in her brain as she wrestled with the stubborn spell. It was that combination of steel and smarts that had turned his front door into a flaming portal and then snared him in a web of magic. She was a force to be reckoned with.

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