Page 48 of Under a Wicked Moon
“Because talking strawberries and orgasms is so much easier—so much safer than discussing the fact I’m a giant freaking mental experiment?”
“They’re an aphrodisiac, you know.”
“Wouldn’t use of them to arouse me be cheating in your quest to rev me up to a point where I explode?”
“You want me.” He glanced up. “I don’t need strawberries to seduce you.”
“I never said I wanted you.”
“It’s okay to admit it. I wanted you from the moment you informed me you’d kill me if I crossed the room.”
“That was moon madness and hormones.”
“There are no out-of-control hormones now, other than standard full-moon madness. But we can handle that, can’t we?” His voice lowered an octave as he said at a whisper, “I want you just as much now as then. It has nothing to do with those things. You’re beautiful, smart, fierce, and you understand magic. You having a discussion with a painting tonight was an experience to watch, even though only you were involved in hearing it.”
Her lips thinned. “Are you making fun of me?”
“Dead serious, Vivi.” He met and held her gaze. No ounce of uncertainty or mirth in there. “Meeting a girl who gets my whacked world of magic is pure relief. If paintings or sculptures or light fixtures are talking to you, I’ll believe it. What if I told you I got attacked and possessed by an evil spirit for five days a few years ago?”
“How’d you survive five days and emerge okay? As in you cameout still being yourself?”
“See, you didn’t question it or think me crazy. Am I the same person after possession? No. It messed up my head in many ways. It activated things that shouldn’t be turned on, like telekinesis. I can also understand concepts, theories—well, anything without much effort, whereas before, some of those things were way beyond my understanding. I could probably figure out how gravity and the quantum can coexist within the same theory, but it doesn’t interest me enough to do so. I prefer the mysteries of cooking. The challenge of perfecting pies. And aphrodisiacs.” He held a strawberry up and rotated it. “There are things I lost when it was in my head, though.”
“Like what?”
“I’m color-blind. Used to be able to see greens and reds, but I can’t now. I know the strawberry is red, since I remember its color, but now to me it’s more a blue.”
She sipped her tea and watched him prepare the waffles in silence.
“Why are you scared of sex?” she asked.
“Am I?” He pursed his lips and glanced upward. “Don’t recall ever saying that. Are you scared? Is it because you’re a virgin?”
“You think I’m projecting?” She chuckled. “I wasn’t raised like most lycan females. I wasn’t on lockdown and kept in the dark about the mysteries of sex, which personally I think is an idiotic way to raise our people. Have I had a lot of experience? No, but I never went into it scared. More…experimental.”
“I’ve had a lot of experience.” Maybe it was a trick of the light, but his eyes burned bright with passion. “I enjoy everything about it. The distinction is I can’t afford attachments. They’re too dangerous. You… You’d become an attachment. Because I already like you.” He lowered his head and scrubbed his hands down his face. “I’m sorry for coming on strong before. I wish the two of us… I want this but, damn it. What happened on the planewas unforgettable, but if we do anything now, I wouldn’t know if you were programmed by some human to seduce me or if you want this on your own. Any woman I’m with will be a willing and voluntary participant.”
She cocked her head to watch him. “Youarescared. Triggered brain issue aside, you don’t think you can handle me.”
He poured batter into a waffle maker. “Let’s start with waffles and then see what both of us can handle.”
“Are you using magic to make those? Cheating isn’t allowed.”
“You’re saying magic isn’t allowed, O-She-Who-Won’t-Use-Her-Own-Magic-Yet-Talks-To-Paintings? I see it as all being on the table. Every last bit of it.” Waffle cooked, he dribbled on a strawberry compote, as he called it, and added a dollop of cream. He used a fork to scoop some of the concoction. “All it takes is one perfect bite.”
Ky scooted around the counter, plate in hand. He held out the forkful for her to try.
Impossible one bite could ever be that good.
He held out the fork. “Do you trust me, Vivi?”
She blinked.
“Close your eyes.” He whispered, “It’s just food. No magic. I swear I won’t touch you.”
“It’s not you I’m worried about. This isn’t a good idea.” Eyelids closed, her senses grew overwhelmed by the nearness of him, the smell of him freshly bathed. The smell of the fruity mixture on the waffle swirled in her nose.
“Mouth open,” he ordered.
