Page 3 of Dangerous Allure
He shakes his head. “It’s the past. But you, Clara… you need to learn to control your gift. It’s powerful, but it doesn’t have to control you.”
His words resonate with me, a truth I’ve been afraid to face.
“Can you help me?” I ask, my voice trembling with hope and fear.
“I can try,” he says, his eyes locking onto mine. “But you have to trust me.”
“I do,” I whisper, the weight of the confession settling between us.
“Good,” he says, his hand sliding up my arm, sending shivers of pleasure through me. “Then let’s start now.”
His lips meet mine, and the world disappears. The kiss is slow, tantalizing, a dance of tongues and breath. His hands roam my body, igniting fires wherever they touch. My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer.
We break apart, gasping for air, our foreheads resting together.
“Marcus…” I breathe, my voice a plea.
“Clara,” he replies, his tone equally desperate. “I can’t explain what I’m feeling, but I know the entire time I was out there performing, my mind was on you. I want you.”
“Then take me,” I say, surrendering to the moment, to him. For the first time in a long while, I feel alive, truly alive.
“Not yet. Not now. But soon.” His eyes twinkle with mischief, melting my heart piece by piece.
Chapter Two
Marcus
The late afternoon sun filters through the canvas of the practice tent, casting a warm, golden hue over everything inside. I stand amidst an array of props and equipment, my mind sharp and focused. Clara is here with me, her presence a constant, tantalizing distraction.
"Watch closely," I say, my voice steady. I pull a silk scarf from my pocket, letting it flutter in the air before making it vanish with a flick of my wrist. Clara’s eyes widen, a mix of admiration and skepticism playing across her features.
"How did you do that?" she asks, her tone both curious and challenging.
I step closer to her, the space between us charged with an electric anticipation. "Magic," I reply with a playful smirk. I take her hand, placing the scarf back in her palm. "Now, your turn."
Her fingers tremble slightly as she attempts the trick, her brows furrowing in concentration. I can sense her frustration and determination, a potent combination that only intensifies the allure she holds over me. I’ve been doing this gig for a long time and I’ve met a lot of people, but none of them have impacted me like she does. There’s something intoxicating abouther, the way her eyes hover and hang on my every word. This woman needs protecting, and I want to be the man to do it.
"Here, let me help." I move behind her, my hands gently covering hers. Our proximity sends a shiver of raw need through me, and I wonder if she feels it too. My voice drops to a whisper as I guide her through the movements. "Relax, Clara. Feel the flow of the fabric, the rhythm of the motion."
She inhales deeply, her body softening against mine. The moment stretches, heavy with unspoken words and shared breaths. I can't ignore the spark that ignites between us, a spark that has been smoldering since the moment we met.
As we practice, I become acutely aware of her empathic abilities. She senses more than just the trick; she senses me—my determination, my guilt, the sadness that I try to keep buried. It’s both unnerving and exhilarating to be so exposed and vulnerable to her.
"You're doing great," I murmur, my lips dangerously close to her ear. I feel her shiver, a reaction that sends a rush of heat through my veins. Our movements become more synchronized, our connection deepening with each step.
We repeat the illusion until it flows seamlessly, our chemistry is intense, each glance charged with unspoken desire. The air between us thickens, filled with the heady mix of our combined energies.
Finally, we complete a perfect run-through. Clara steps back, her breath coming in soft pants, her cheeks flushed with exhilaration. I let my touch linger on her arm, a silent acknowledgment of the bond we’re forging.
"Marcus," she breathes, her voice a delicate blend of uncertainty and longing.
"Clara," I respond, my tone equally weighted with the same emotions. I search her eyes, finding my own desire reflected back at me.
The silence stretches, heavy with tension and possibility. I want to kiss her, to close the gap between us and drown in the intoxicating pull she has over me. But I hold back, sensing her inner conflict. She’s torn, I can feel it—the struggle between her growing feelings for me and her wariness of my intentions. We’ve only just met but already it feels like we’ve known each other for a lifetime. Maybe a few of them.
"I… I need a break," she finally says, stepping away, her voice trembling slightly.
I nod, respecting her space even though every fiber of my being wants to pull her back. "Of course. Take your time."
