Page 75 of What Happened on Roslyn Street?
“There’s no one.” Caldwell steps inside.
“Thank god…” I step behind him, resting my glass on the nearest piece of furniture—a nightstand.
I’m able to notice more about the room this time. The walls are either a deep gray or black and the bedspread is crimson—well-made but likely filthy.
The furniture is eerily like that at Strode. Then, there’s the painting. It’s the only one in the room, and as I look at it again, my eyes sting.
“It’s certainly charmed,” Caldwell says, moving closer to the portrait. “I wonder what for…”
“And the door doesn’t lock,” I say. “It’s the only one that doesn’t. That’s probably why the others aren’t… using this room.”
“I don’t think the lack of a lock has to do with the charm.”
“No?” I look away from the painting, unable to meet the dead eyes behind the mask for another moment.
“No,” he says. “It’s just an old house with owners who aren’t taking care of it. The charm is…” He hums, his fingers outstretched for the painting.
“Wait!” I jump, grabbing the back of his shirt and dragging him toward me. “Don’t touch it. What if it’s dangerous?”
“Are you worried about me? That’s sweet.”
I roll my eyes and let go of him. “Fine. Do whatever you want if it means you’ll stop taunting me.”
“I’m not taunting.”
“You are?—”
I don’t get to finish before his hands are on my waist, pulling me closer. Anything I want to say is lost. I stand on my tiptoes tomeet him halfway.
No one is watching now, but anyone could enter—and rather than being disturbed by the thought, I feel a thrill.
Caldwell is changing me, too, and I think it’s for the better. At the very least, I’m having more fun.
My fingers weave into the hair at the nape of his neck, and he pushes me against the wall hard enough to rattle the painting.
“It’s a protective charm,” he pants, nipping at my lower lip.
I press against his chest, pushing him away long enough to get a word in. “How do you know?”
“I’m a witch,” he says. “I can feel the magic, even though you didn’t let me touch the painting. It protects this place—probably from unaccompanied humans.”
“Fascinating.” I lean in closer, my lips brushing against his. “It’s like the charm at your shop, then?”
“Mhm.”
“I forget why I’m supposed to care.”
He devours me, and I let him, clinging on for dear life as he drinks me up. It’s too easy to forget Margaux sent us here with a task. The only thing I want to do is touch him, be with him. My fingers slide under his shirt.
His abdomen clenches under my touch, and beneath my lips, he emits the softest sound—a groan that makes me squeeze my thighs together.
He finally pulls away, giving me space to breathe.
“Are you sure it isn’t another kind of charm?” I ask, laughing through swollen lips. “It could be one like… like the book on the shelf. Charming the husband, or whatever.”
Dark, hungry eyes meet mine. His hands slide under my skirt, using both to squeeze my ass.
“I’m sure,” he says. “You’ve had me under your spell for weeks now, but that’s another story entirely.”
