Page 59 of Once Charmed, Twice Cursed
“Yes. Take me. Anything you want. All of it.”
He makes a sound, broken and yet full of want. The inches between us crackle and pop, each one a drop of oil in a sizzling pan.
“I hope you realize,” he finally says, “that if you’d died, I would have, too. I wouldn’t have had a reason, anymore.”
“A reason?” I murmur. “For what?”
“Anything.”
Emotion seals my throat, rendering me wordless. I reach for his face, then halt my palm an inch from his cheek. His skin tugs at mine like a magnet, but I resist.
His choice. It has to be his choice.
Something ancient slides into his eyes. An inevitability. “Ten seconds, Birdie.”
I blink. My hand drops. “What?”
“That’s how long you have to change your mind.” His gloved fingers flex at his sides. “Because I almost lost you. And it wasbecauseof your Mark, not in spite of it. Now ten seconds is all I have left. Ten more seconds of resisting you.”
My heart lurches, straining against my ribs. “What happens after ten seconds?”
He glances behind me. “Then I lay you out on that bed, and when you get out of it again, you won’t be a Charm. So think about it. Be absolutely sure.”
All the room’s air evaporates, leaving me gasping and dizzy. I sway on my feet. I don’t need to think about anything.
“One,” he says.
A whimper warms my throat. My whole body begins to buzz. I can’t believe he’s finally going to give me this gift. Thesetwogifts. The only two things I’ve ever wanted, in one fell stroke.
“Two.” Weston pulls his left glove off, finger by finger, then does the same with the right. He peers down at the pair as if memorizing it, then tosses the gloves into the fire.
I follow the movement, my eyes wide. “Did you just?—”
“Three.”
When I glance back, he’s tugging his shirt free of his waistband. He works it up over his head and casts it away somewhere. I don’t hear it land, lost as I am in the play of firelight across his chest. The striated muscles of his shoulders flex and bunch.
“Four,” Weston says, growing hoarser by the moment.
My heartbeat skips. He kicks off his boots. In the fireplace, the gloves combust, throwing a flare of heat that warms my side.
“Five.” He works at his pants until the buttons pop loose, then shoves them down. He shucks his underwear, too—all of it gone, in one clean motion. He steps free and kicks them away. “Six.”
I look down. Then my eyes get stuck, because he’s already ready. Hewantsme—even like this, even broken—and I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anything, and I can’t believe this is actually happening. Alverton and his horrid little room fade from my mind.
“Seven.”
I meet those familiar whiskey eyes. The scene crystallizes, etching itself on my mind.
This, right here, right now, is the defining moment of my existence. This man. Each counted second outweighs an hour spent in parched misery.
And, for a moment, I feel immeasurably lucky. Blessed by the thousand tiny collisions of fate that have delivered me to this place.
“Eight.” Weston is trembling now, his wealth of power all held in check. “Nine.”
“I love you,” I say.
He falters. “Ten,” he finishes, his voice raw.
