Page 59 of Charmed
“Explain?” The word was barely audible. Her throat was wild with thirst.
“There’s no possible … Let me help you up.” Her body slid like wax through his arms. “I’ll get you some clothes, or … Oh, hell.”
“I don’t think I can get up.” She moistened her lips, and tasted him. “Not for a day or two. This is fine, though. I’ll just stay right here.”
Frowning at her, he tried to interpret what he heard in her voice. It wasn’t anger. It didn’t sound like distress. It sounded like—very much like—satisfaction. “You’re not upset?”
“Hmmm? Am I supposed to be?”
“Well, for … I practically attacked you. Hell, Ididattack you, almost taking you in the front seat of the car, tearing off your clothes, dragging you in here and devouring what was left of you on the stairs.”
With her eyes still closed, she drew in a deep breath, then let it out again on a sigh through curved lips. “You certainly did. And it’s the first time I’ve been devoured. I don’t think I’ll ever go up and down a staircase the same way again.”
Gently he tipped a finger under her chin until her eyes opened. “I had intended to at least make it to the bedroom.”
“I guess we’ll get there eventually.” Recognizing concern, she put a hand on his wrist. “Boone, do youthink I could be upset because you wanted me that much?”
“I thought you might be upset because this wasn’t what you’re used to.”
Making the effort, she sat up, wincing a little at the aches that would surely be bruises before much longer. “I’m not made of glass. There’s no way we could love each other that wouldn’t be right. But …” She linked her arms around his neck and her smile was wicked around the edges. “Under the circumstances, I’m glad we made it into the house.”
He skimmed his hands down to her hips for the pleasure of bringing her body against his. “My neighbor’s very open-minded.”
“I’ve heard that.” Experimentally she caught his lower lip between her teeth. Remembering how much pleasure it gave her to feel his lips cruise over her face and throat, she began a lazy journey over his. “Fortunately, my neighbor’s very understanding of passions. I doubt anything would shock him. Even if I told him I often fantasize about him at night, when I’m alone, in bed.”
It was impossible, but he felt himself stir against her. The deep, dark wanting began to smolder again. “Really? What kind of fantasies?”
“Of having him come to me.” Her breath began to quicken as his mouth roamed over her shoulder. “Come to my bed like an incubus in the night, when a storm cracks the air. I can see his eyes, cobalt blue in a flash of lightning, and I know that he wants me the way no one else ever has, or ever will.”
Knowing very well that if he didn’t take some kind of action now they’d remain sprawled on the stairs, he gathered her up. “I can’t give you the lightning.”
She smiled as he carried her up. “You already have.”
***
Later, hours later, they knelt on the tumbled bed, feasting on pizza by candlelight. Ana had lost track of time and had no need to know if it was midnight or approaching dawn. They had loved and talked and laughed and lovedagain. No night in her life had been more perfect. What did time matter here?
“Guinevere was no heroine.” Ana licked sauce from her fingers. They had discussed epic poetry, modern animation, ancient legends and folklore and classic horror. She wasn’t sure how they had wound their way back to Arthur and Camelot, but on the subject of Arthur’s queen, Ana stood firm. “And she certainly wasn’t a tragic figure.”
“I’d think a woman, especially one with your compassion, would have more sympathy with her situation.” Boone debated having a last piece from the cardboard box they’d plopped in the center of the bed.
“Why?” Ana picked it up herself and began to feed it to him. “She betrayed her husband, helped bring down a kingdom, all because she was weak-willed and self-indulgent.”
“She was in love.”
“Love doesn’t excuse all actions.” Amused, she tilted her head and studied him in the flickering light. He looked gloriously masculine in nothing but a pair of gym shorts, his hair tousled, his face shadowed with stubble. “Isn’t that just like a man? Finding excuses for a woman’s infidelity just because it’s written about in romantic terms.”
He didn’t think it was precisely an insult, but it made him squirm a little. “I just don’t think she had control of the situation.”
“Of course she did. She had a choice, and she chose poorly, just as Lancelot did. All that flowery business about gallantry and chivalry and heroism and loyalty, and the two of them justified betraying a man who loved them both because they couldn’t control themselves?” She tossed her hair back. “That’s bull.”
He laughed before he sipped his wine. “You amaze me. Here I’ve been thinking you were a romantic. A woman who picks flowers by moonlight, who collects statues of fairies and wizards, and she condemns poor Guinevere because she loved unwisely.”
She fired up. “Poor Guinevere—”
“Hold on.” He was chuckling, enjoying himself immensely. It didn’t occur to either of them that they were debating about people most considered fictional. “Let’s not forget some of the other players. Merlin wassupposed to be watching over the whole business. Why didn’t he do anything about it?”
Fastidiously she brushed crumbs from her bare legs. “It’s not a sorcerer’s place to interfere with destiny.”
