Page 17 of Bewitched Before Christmas
She gritted her teeth. He was so annoying. Thought he knew everything about her. Well, she knew a few things about him as well.
“You know,” she said. “I don’t actually want you to touch me.”
He frowned. Hah, that had got him thinking. “You don’t?”
“I mean. You did give me an orgasm. I’m not going to deny it. If someone had told me some skanky, Scottish dead guy sucking my blood would make me come, I would have said—hell no. But it happened. Big deal. You know what? I could do the same with my vibrator and without all the drama.”
“Drama?”
“Come on. Car crashes, werewolves… Not to mention the fact that you’re a blood-sucking monster.” No answer. She picked up her empty wine glass. “Is there any more wine? This talking about feelings stuff is hard work.”
She sat back as he disappeared and returned a minute later with another bottle. He poured her a glass and sat down, took a mouthful straight from the bottle. “Go on.”
“Well, you’re Scottish. And you’ve obviously got a huge chip on your shoulder.”
His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t speak, just raised the bottle to his mouth again. Christ, he was gorgeous—she wouldn’t mention that bit.Just remember—not happening.
“And you think you don’t need anybody.” Could she say this next bit? Yes. Tough love. “Because obviously, it must seem like everybody you ever needed died and left you. And that’s hard. I sympathize. Really, I do. But I don’t need a man with that sort of baggage.”
“You don’t?”
“No.” She curved her lips up into what she hoped was a sappy smile. “I want a nice man. An uncomplicated man. A…teacher or a doctor. Someone…normal. Someone I can watch the sun rise with and not worry about him spontaneously combusting.”
“That’s…nice. I’m sure you’ll be very happy with Mr. Normal.” He raised the bottle to his lips and swallowed.
“Hey, don’t hog all the wine.” She thrust out her glass. Lachlan leaned across and filled it. Their fingers brushed and a tingle of electricity shot through her. She snatched back her hand. Swallowed the wine. Took a deep breath.
“All I’m trying to say here is—you’re right. We’re obviously, totally wrong for each other.”
At his silence, she peered across at him. He was slumped in the chair, and her gaze wandered up over the long, lean length of him, finally landing on his face. His expression was pensive, sort of sad and alone. Was he thinking about his ma and sisters? And maybe all the empty, lonely Christmases in between.
He caught her gaze, and his eyes narrowed, gleaming green from beneath a fringe of dark lashes. He slowly swiped his tongue across his lower lip, and a frisson ran through her from her toes to the top of her head.
Two could play at that game. She loosened her grip on the duvet, let it drop a smidgen, revealing the upper curves of her breasts. She nipped her lower lip, then flicked her tongue across it. His eyes flashed. Hah.
“So,” he murmured in a dark smoky voice, “obviously, we’re totally and completely wrong for each other.” The bottle was empty, and he tossed it away. “But have you considered that perhaps we’re the only two people left alive on the planet? No more Mr. Normal? Just you and me.” He rose to his feet. Took the two steps between them and stood over her.
Heat flowed through her like molten lava.
Was he right? Was it just her and Lachlan together for eternity?
She wanted him. She hadn’t realized she could want something this much. Way more than a puppy.
But that wasn’t what made her put down her glass and get to her feet, drop the duvet so she stood only inches from him in nothing but her underwear. It was that sad look she’d caught in his eyes. And the sudden urge to give him a memory of Christmas to wipe away the earlier pain.
She was totally out of her depth. He was centuries older than her. She was, in fact, way too young. But maybe that’s what he needed. He’d never had the chance to be young. He’d lost his whole family by the time he was eight. He’d lost everything else on the battlefield when he was barely older than she was now. Her chest ached when she thought about everything he had been through, everything he had lost.
“Just you and me,” she murmured and took a step closer, rested her palm on his cool chest. “I just showed you the worst Christmas you ever had.” Another step closer so they were almost touching, and her nostrils filled with the cool musky scent of him. “Let me make it up to you. What do you want for Christmas, Lachlan? Anything. Anything you desire.”
He stared down at her, hands at his side. “Not fair,” he murmured.
“I’m a witch. I never said I would be fair.”
Chapter Nine
Lachlan was lost. Totally lost.
He wasn’t sure when he’d relinquished control of the situation. Maybe when she’d stood up and dropped the duvet, and she was all but naked. Perfection in miniature, all sexy curves and black underwear. Or maybe when she’d listed all the reasons why he was wrong for her, while staring out of those hungry silver eyes. Witch’s eyes.
