The heat in her belly turned to fire.
Shit.
Nettle’s enchantment.
“You’re shivering,” he said, frowning.
Shivering?Emeline felt hot with fever. She peered down to find her skin covered in goose bumps.
“It’s cold out here. You should go back to your rooms, where it’s warmer.”
Come with me,she thought.
She wrestled the thought into a cage.He’s right: go back.You’re not in control of yourself.
Hawthorne was saying something else, but the words blurred in her ears. She heard her name, and the enchantment tightened around her, wrapping her up in a slow, silvery web.
I’m about to completely humiliate myself,she realized.
But instead of stepping back, she stepped closer, drawn to him like a bee to pollen. Unable to help herself.
“Hawthorne?”
He fell quiet as her palms skimmed up his chest, over thefine wool of his sweater. His fingers wrapped lightly around her wrist, but he didn’t stop her. He didn’t say a word.
Warn him. Now. Before it’s too late.
Emeline leaned in. The bridge of her nose slowly grazed the edge of his jaw. Hawthorne drew in a sharp breath, his fingers tightening around her wrist.
“Hawthorne, there’s something I—”
Before she could finish, his free hand slid behind her neck. Emeline melted beneath the heat of it. He bent his head to hers, eyes dark with desire, and the sight of it—thewanting—snapped something inside her.
She took his face in her hands and kissed him.
Hawthorne didn’t hesitate; his kiss burned through her like wildfire. Her body blazed with it. But instead of quenching her greedy hunger, it made her ravenous.
She pushed him back against the hall wall, running her hands along his shoulders, feeling the bones and muscles there. He captured her waist with one arm, dragging her against him, needing her closer. His free hand trembled as he traced her jaw and throat and collarbone, as if searing her into his memory. As if she were a balm for some hidden ache.
As Emeline deepened the kiss, though, Hawthorne suddenly went rigid, pulling back like he tasted something bitter. His fingers dug into her shoulders, wrenching her away.
Emeline sucked in a ragged breath. Forced out of a dream she would much rather remain in, she reached for him, wanting it back.
“No,” he said. “I can taste it on you.”
She blinked, trying to get this crazed yearning under control.
“You’re enchanted.” His gaze was thunderous. “Who did this?”
But Emeline didn’t care. She wanted his kisses back. Wanted those warm, strong hands on her …
“Emeline.”His grip on her shoulders tightened, and it made the fire in her roar louder. “Give me a name.”
“Nettle,” she murmured, her skin hot in all the places he’d touched her. “She gave me a drink.”
Hawthorne’s eyes blackened.
“I’m going to kill her.”
