Page 9 of Magic Touch
"What did you do?" Censure rings through her question.
"The sensible thing. I bade it leave me."
She sucks in a slow breath and lets it out. "Of course. Magic is never as simple as we wish, nor as complicated as we hope, my mother used to say. To rid you of the magic, we must understand how you came by it. My healing should not have done this to you, so there is more to the state of things. Try again, but just ask for the magic to remain small and tucked away this time."
My father's voice rings in my head. Don't trust anything you can't explain. Banish trivial ideas. Stay the course. He could not have predicted this. I do as Esme instructed and watch as my newly formed ball of light rides a wave into my chest and settles beneath my heart. My hands no longer glow. The new sensation still remains with me but tucked inside. "I don't understand any of this."
She releases my hands and goes to the cupboard, where she removes a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. "You may ask me anything, and if I can, I will answer."
"How did you become a witch?"
She pours two glasses and hands me one. "Witches are born, not made. We have lived longer than humans if the old tales are to be believed."
"You are not human?" Why that should trouble me, I can't say.
She sips her drink. "Not in the strictest sense. Non-magical people may live to seventy or so. I suppose some a decade or two longer. The average life of a witch is almost three times as long."
"You said your mother died last year. Was she very old?"
Shaking her head, she says, "No. Though she had me at nearly forty-five and could have had more children, perhaps into her sixties or older. I've heard of witches giving birth at one hundred years. But that's not what you asked. Witches are not impervious to disease. Mother became ill, and none of our magic could cure her. She refused the help of the coven, though I don't think they could have helped either."
"How old are you?" I blurt before good manners can be enforced.
A bell-like laugh falls from those full lips, making me long even more to kiss her. "I'll be twenty-five in a few months."
"Forgive me." I drink down the strong spirits in one gulp and put the glass on the table. "I shouldn't have asked such an impertinent question."
"It's all right. How old are you?" A wicked smile turns her from pretty to exotic in a heartbeat.
I lean closer, unable to stop my body from the draw of her. "I've just passed my thirty-first year. I don't know why it should trouble me that you will live hundreds of years beyond my death, but something about you, Esme—" I shake off the rest of the thought. I have already said too much.
"What about me?" She sits forward.
Unable to resist knowing how soft her skin is, I run my knuckles along her jaw. "You mesmerize me."
She closes her hand around mine but doesn't move to stop my touch. She eases closer, her lips parted, and the hint of her pink tongue brushes her bottom lip. "I've done nothing to make it so."
"No." I kiss her cheek. The scent of warm vanilla and lemons fills my head. "Yet I've never wanted anyone with such intensity. Forgive me." My mouth covers hers, and the light inside me relaxes, like coming home after a very long journey and finding my favorite chair just as I left it.
Esme sighs, and when my tongue touches hers, she wraps her hand around my neck and threads my hair.
Her touch is like a torch to dry straw.
I stand, pulling her up with me, and wrap an arm around her waist to pull her close while still cupping her jaw.
Our lips move together as if we've waited all our lives for this kiss. Moving with me, over me, under me, she presses her body to mine, which responds in kind. My shaft yearns hard between us.
Esme presses her hips tight to mine and moans deeply.
Cupping her bottom, I crave more, and am rewarded by her tongue sliding over mine. I kiss her sweet neck, and her pulse thrums for my touch just as mine pounds through me like a marching band. "Esme."
I kiss my way back to those miraculous lips, already parted and panting. Drawing the bottom between mine, and then the top, I revel in how she responds as if made for this moment with me.
This woman has become everything in just one day. One day. It crashes over me like a bucket of cold water.
With every ounce of my will, I break the kiss. "Esme, this is not right. I want you, but you are not mine to have, and just yesterday, we were strangers."
She closes her eyes. "No. I know." Pulling back, she brushes her hands from under her breasts to the top of her skirts, wiping me and my touch away. "I share equal blame, William. I should have kept my distance. This could be a product of my magic resting inside you. Once it is gone, the feeling will likely go as well. Then we would be left with nothing but guilt."
