Page 64 of Potions and Proposals
His gaze fell to her lips as she swallowed, unable to stop thinking about him doing everything she’d just read aloud. He cocked his head, a sly smile dancing on his lips. Lips she suddenly wanted to taste. She was hot all over, but this was different from his element. Sharper, urgent, more consuming.
“You want me, Lucinda. I don’t know why you continue to deny what you truly desire.”
The next thing she knew, his hand was in her hair, and her head was being twisted to the side as his lips crashed down on hers. She whimpered as the feel and taste of him overwhelmed her.Oh, shit. I can’t. It’s Benedict.
As though reading her mind, he darted away from her. Her eyelids fluttered open; his sudden absence made her dizzy.
“Fuck it.” She reached up, grabbing the back of his neck and kissed him greedily. His hand gripped her waist; she shovedaside the blanket, overwhelmed by heat and the desire to remove any barriers between them. His fist tightened in her hair as his lips demanded more. Drunk on the taste of him, she struggled to catch her breath. She loved his mouth, which was surprising, since she spent most of her life wanting him to shut it.
He teased her with his tongue, brushing her lower lip and driving her desperate with need. Slipping his hand up her shirt, he palmed her breast, and she let out a little gasp. Lost in his touch, she struggled to think, to breathe. All she knew was that she needed more, and that she’d never get enough. He trailed his lips along her jaw, his breath hot against her ear.
“If only this were real,” he whispered, his lips grazing her sensitive stomach.
The words shocked her out of the dream. “What in the hell type of dream was that?!” She shook the images from her head as they lingered. Period dreams could be rather crazy, so she decided to blame the book and forget it had happened.
Lucy didn’t know when she’d fallen asleep, but she was now covered with a blanket, and the book she’d been reading was on the table beside her. It was dark outside, and she guessed she’d slept long into the night.
The water bottle was still warm as she took it from her tummy; she smiled a little. Given the amount of time passed, Benedict must have refilled it when he came back.
Peeling herself off the couch, she tiptoed over the creaky floors until she reached his bedroom to find him sleeping. Leaning against the archway, she couldn’t help but admire howpeaceful he was. He looked younger, sleep removing all traces of his scowl.
He turned over, clutching a pillow to his chest, and something that resembled butterflies stirred in Lucy’s heart. The alarm clock by his bed told her it was already five am. She had to get home and change before work; she didn’t want the town to see her walk of shame.
She wanted to repay his kindness, and the only way she knew how was to get his element back to him as soon as possible.
“There you are!”
Lucinda jumped out of her skin as Gwendoline appeared at her back. It wasn’t like Mrs Matherson to teleport to see her.
“You frightened me,” she exclaimed, dropping a pile of books on the front desk before she scorched them.
“I can see that. Our future High Priestess shouldn’t scare so easily,” Gwendoline said, eyeing Lucy’s unicorn slippers. The woman was practically see-through– an astral projection.
“What can I help you with, Gwendoline?” Lucy asked, switching her shoes beneath the desk. “I’m sure you’re busy, since you couldn’t come in person.”
“I was on my way to get my nails done when I got a text from your mum. I forgot to collect the binding cloaks this morning from Benedict. I thought you might be able to help; your mumwants to get started on tailoring them as soon as possible. What with all that’s going on with the changes to the festival – an excellent idea to change the layout, by the way. I knew you and Benedict would make an exquisite team. Though I will try not to take too much credit.” Gwendoline winked.
“I can pick them up after we close,” Lucy said, fidgeting with her ring behind her back, careful to keep it out of Gwendoline’s sight. She wondered why her mum was in a rush to get everything for the binding organised. Maybe she wanted it out of the way so they could focus on the upcoming festival.
“I knew you wouldn’t hesitate to help! Wouldn’t want you covered in dusty cloaks on your special day.” You could only really count on a Matherson to smile when they got their way.
It was customary for the woman to wear the cloak of the male line, though Lucy would have preferred to wear the Hawthorne cloak her mother had worn on the day she was anointed as High Priestess. It’d be more traditional, if not slightly archaic, to wear the Matherson cloak, so it was what the coven would be expecting.
“I would’ve asked Benedict to drop them off, but he had some mess to clean up, I don’t know. I did ask him to dig them out of the attic,” Gwendoline went on, speaking a mile a minute. Lucy wondered if the mess was the destroyed cake; she wished she’d cleaned it up for him before she’d left.
“It’s no trouble,” she said, hoping to move on.
“I can’t wait to see you both in Matherson navy. Your mum is magic with the sewing machine. It will be so lovely to see Benedict in the Matherson cloak. He’ll be the last to use them in our line, you know. Unless you have any children.” Gwendoline’s voice turned sad.
Lucy pictured herself in the deep navy cloaks she’d seen in photos, the M over her heart. She’d never thought of giving up her surname if the binding went ahead; she wondered ifBenedict would expect it of her. That would mean that even if she became the High Priestess, it would still be two Mathersons at the head of the table. Her mum had kept her name, but that was because Dad was a magless. Lucy wasn’t sure which made her palms sweat more – the idea of becoming a Matherson, or the thought of having Benedict’s kids. Both made her head spin. They were still learning to cope with each other’s company, never mind the pressures of the future being added to their shoulders.
“I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves. If we make it to the binding in one piece, that will be enough,” she laughed.
Gwendoline offered a sympathetic smile. “One step at a time.”
On her way to the manor to pick up the cloaks, Lucy savoured the fresh air. Her conversation with Gwendoline had forced her to think of what being bound would really mean. They would live together, work together. People would expect them to continue the new line of Mathersons. She wasn’t sure if she could do it.
She twisted the ring on her finger. If he was willing to try, then she wasn’t going to be the first to falter.
