Yer gonna jerk off with her in the next room?

  Something about the idea made him feel like a creep—while also exciting him. Knowing that she had the potential to walk in on him at any moment, see him aroused and hard, and realize it was all for her.

  Because of her.

  He quietly knelt in the bath, bowing his head as the warming water hit the back of his neck, sliding down over his shoulders and back like tiny fingers running over his flesh. He imagined that it was Tamsin touching him, her fingers trailing over him, and he grasped his cock in one hand, wishing it was her palm, her fingers closing over him.

  Slowly, he moved his hand up and down the hard length, closing his eyes and picturing his prickly witch in the bath with him, her dark hair wet and clinging to them both. Trapping him in her web. He could almost smell her with him, but it was a darker, lusher scent made so by her arousal as she brought him to the edge of sanity—from wanting him as much as he wanted her. She’d look at him with those pale wolf eyes, seeing him, accepting him—all of him.

  His hand squeezed as he envisioned dropping his head to kiss her, her lips dueling with his, her tongue warm and demanding in his mouth. Challenging him, pushing him to give her the pleasure she deserved. That she wanted.

  “Fuck.”

  He thought about how it would feel to caress her—to run his fingers over the curves and valleys of her body. His fist pumped harder, faster, his hand gliding up and down the slippery length of his cock as he imagined cupping one of her breasts in his hand, feeling the nipple pebble under his touch. He would worship it with his fingers and mouth, while his other hand dipped down, sliding over her hip to glide lower between the apex of her thighs.

  Pressure built in his balls and a tingling sensation spread from his legs to his spine as the show in his mind continued to evolve. His breathing grew fast and shallow as he pictured delicately cupping Tamsin’s pussy, before dipping his fingers between her folds, her wet arousal all over his hands. Feeling her body shudder with pleasure, with need.

  For him.

  Ecstasy thundered through him, exploding through his body as he imagined Tamsin’s breathy moans of bliss as he touched her. Her hands grabbing him, pulling him closer. Wanting him. Taking him.

  He gasped her name as he came, as he drowned in the most intense orgasm of his life, shaking from the power of it. He didn’t know how long he kneeled in the shower, shock holding him immobile as the evidence of his pleasure disappeared with the onslaught of sanity and the shower’s spray.

  He sat up, titling his face into the warm water, running wet hands through his tangled hair. Fuck. He’d just came so hard he wasn’t sure he could stand straight. And Tamsin Redthorne had been in the next room, none the wiser.

  But he couldn’t pretend any longer that he didn’t want her. If imagining them together made him lose his mind, he could only wonder at what being with her in real life would do to him. He couldn’t go back now, not anymore; to pretending the chemistry between them didn’t exist.

  Because he had to know what they could be to each other.

  No more games.

  By the time he emerged from the bathroom, hair slicked back and glasses abandoned on the bathroom counter, his grand entrance had somewhat lost its impact. Mainly because he was just wearing a towel, skin still slightly damp due to the condensation that had built up in the bathroom.

  Tamsin sat on the bed, reading. She looked up briefly when he entered, her eyes flicking away almost instantly—her expression utterly unimpressed. “What took you so long?”

  He kept his tone mild. “I had business to take care of.”

  Tamsin’s eyes shot to his. “In the shower?” Then, his words seemed to register, her cheeks turning a faint rose. Her eyes dropped to the towel slung around his waist, her gaze stroking over his abs.

  Damnit woman, he thought. She made him want to crawl all over her with just a look.

  For a moment though, he was grateful he’d taken care of said ‘business’, otherwise, his towel would have turned into a tent by now.

  He walked toward the bed, one hand holding the towel up. He could ‘accidentally’ flash her—just for the reaction, of course—but he had a feeling he’d tested her patience enough for one day. And he wasn’t sure he could handle her rejection, not right now, not when he still felt raw from what he’d just done. What he’d decided.

  He dipped awkwardly down to grab his suitcase and headed back toward the bathroom. As he passed near her, the amber and orchid scent of her hit him again, sweet and warm and edged with something new, something tart. The next thing he knew, however, she’d bolted past him into the bathroom, shutting the door in his face.

  He bumped into it.

  “Tamsin!” he shouted, letting go of the towel to knock on the closed door with one hand while the other held his suitcase.

  The door jerked open just as the damp fabric began to slip.

  Max dropped the suitcase and scrambled to catch the towel, managing to yank it up just before he managed to give Tamsin a view she’d probably sooner forget. Tamsin’s wolf eyes—now far too close—wandered over his chest once more, and this time, her gaze lingered along the trail of hair leading down and under the towel’s edge.

  He waited for her to mock him.

  “Will you be wearing a kilt?” she asked instead, teeth catching on her bottom lip.

  Why the hell would she care if he wore a kilt?

  “What are ye getting at, lass? I mean—TamTam,” he corrected.

  She looked up at him at that, those pale-blue eyes darkening. If it were anyone else, he might have thought it was with lust. Or rage. Or some delightful combination of the two. But with her? It was just irritation. Surely.

  “TamTam? That sounds ridiculous.” She leaned forward, her breath warm against his bare chest, causing goosebumps to prickle along the length of his skin. Fuck fuck fuck. He closed his eyes briefly. Her voice, however, had him instantly opening his eyes. “I’ve heard some men don’t wear anything beneath their kilts.” She cast a lazy glance downward. “Though it’d be a waste on you, wouldn’t it?” She turned, dismissing him.

  As she always did.

  Without thinking, Max reached forward, one hand gripping her shoulder, pulling her against him, her back to his front. Her tense warmth branded him, and he wished he could stand there all night, her body pressed against his. Unfortunately, his body chose that exact moment to respond, his cock hardening at the feel of her ass pressed flush to his hips. He tilted his lower body away so she wouldn’t feel the blatant evidence of his sudden—and unexpected—arousal, but he wasn’t sure if he’d been quick enough.

  I dinnae think I would recover so quickly…

  He leaned down, breath hot against the curl of her ear. “If ye wanted a show, ye could’ve said so, Tam. Nae need to try and tease me into it.”

  Her entire body stiffened in annoyance; as much as he wished it were something else.

  His grin grew against the side of her head.

  Slowly, deliberately, he let his hand slide down her neck and shoulder—his palm scalded by the silken feel of her—then let go and stepped back, turning to face the bed so she couldn’t see the towel standing at full-mast at his hips. “Enjoy that cold shower.”

  “Listen, you Highland Headache, you’re one comment away from turning into a newt.”

  “Ah! But we are nae in bed.” He threw a quick glance over his shoulder. “The pity.”

  “In bed?” Her expression turned blank before he looked away again.

  “Ye said ye’d turn me into a toad if I touched ye while we shared a bed. We are nae in bed.”

  “Toad. Newt. Same same.” He could feel her glare burning into his shoulder blades. “Don’t you dare bust in on me when I’m in the shower!”

  He tried to look innocent when he looked at her again. “Why would I do that?”

  She hmphed. “Doors aren’t exactly a barrier, are they?”

  Not for a phantom, at any rate. “Ach, Tam. I dinnae get my kicks from spying on cranky witches.”

  No, he just got them from imagining naked ones.

  And apparently pissing them off.

  Tamsin slammed the door—but not before he caught the ghost of a smirk on her lips.

  Chapter 5

  Tamsin

  Tamsin bit her lip as she stared at herself in the fogged bathroom mirror. Hair piled haphazardly atop her head, her body naked as the day she was born, her pale-brown skin gleaming, as if coated by dew. Max’s scent was thick in the room, and she hated it. Hated that she wanted to pick up his discarded shirt and breathe it in, before wrapping it around herself so that his warmth and heather and woodsmoke smell enclosed her, as if in an embrace.

  “Asshole,” she muttered.

  She’d spent her entire shower trying to banish the image of Max’s half-naked body from her mind, the sensation of his hard chest against her back. The feeling of being safe within his arms. She’d had no idea that his body had been that chiseled, that he had a six pack that would be the envy of any shifter. That she’d have to physically force herself to stop staring, to close her eyes so that she didn’t try to touch what she could see. And work her way down to what she couldn’t…

  But it was the safety he inspired that irritated her the most.

  He had no right to do that.

  Lust—lust she could handle. Hell, she’d fuck his brains out if she knew that it would solve the building tension between them. But the fact he made her feel safe? No, that was dangerous. It signified that he meant more to her than a one-night stand or causal lover.

  And that couldn’t be. She wouldn’t allow it.

  Gripping the charm around her neck, she held it so tightly her knuckles turned bone white. She was not going to risk falling in love or having feelings for someone. Not again. She wasn’t going to sacrifice her sense of self, of happiness for the sake of another. Not when the risk of rejection and humiliation came with it.

  Letting go of the charm, she looked down at the fabric bag on the pale-pink tiled floor. She’d brought it into the bathroom with her, so she didn’t have to walk towel-covered into the room as Max had done.

  Her mouth turned dry at the memory of all that skin…covered in nothing but a towel and the strange necklace many of the phantoms wore. The dark line of hair that arrowed from his belly button down⁠—

  Enough! She thought. She was mooning like a lovesick teenager, something she had never been. Not even with Nigel, who she’d intended to marry.

  Squatting, she rifled through her bag’s contents. Three dresses. Three choices. And she couldn’t decide which one.

  She let her fingers run over the deep-emerald silk gown; it was an old favorite from her time with the House of Earth and Emerald, and she hadn’t worn it around Nigel, so it contained no bad memories—but no good ones, either. It was showy and flamboyant, but it just didn’t feel right for tonight’s ball. All Hallows’ Eve was tied to Samhain, a time of year when doorways to other worlds opened, and distance between the dead and the living grew closer. She needed something more…ethereal.

  She withdrew the two other gowns she’d packed. One was white, shimmering as if it had been dusted with diamond powder. High necked, long sleeved, it was demure and professional. Something that would work when she represented the House of Death and Diamond at formal events. The other gown was a pale pinkish-purple, the hue reminiscent of the heather flowers that coated the loch’s surroundings in winter. She hadn’t been able to resist it when she’d found the silken fabric in a London shop.

  She lowered the white dress and laid it over her bag. This pinkish dress clung to her in all the right places—according to Sabrina, who’d been with her and insisted she needed it—but Tamsin wasn’t sure if she wanted to test that theory tonight. Still, she hadn’t worn it yet, and who knew when she’d have another opportunity? It wasn’t the sort of gown one wore to a formal House event. Not with its plunging neckline and cinched waist.

  Now or never, she thought.

  Decision made, she slid into a pair of panties and then stepped into the gown. At first, the fabric slid on easily, but once the dress was at her hips, she had to awkwardly shimmy herself the rest of the way into it, hopping and jumping a little to get it into the right place. She tried to fasten the gown on her own, but only managed to pull the zip three-quarters of the way up. Good enough, she decided.

  Turning toward the mirror, she blinked at the transformation.

  Her long brown hair, having fallen out of its half-hearted bun during her gown-shimmying calisthenics, now spilled loosely around her, framing both her face and shoulders. Two delicate straps rested on her shoulders, leading down to a sweetheart neckline that plunged to the end of her sternum. Three charms rested in the gap between her breasts: her signet that showed she was a member of the House of Death and Diamond, the pendant her largely absent father had once given her, and the charm she’d begun wearing after Nigel had left her.

  Normally, she hid the three charms, but tonight…tonight she would showcase them. Tonight, she would be in control of her destiny, her tomorrows, and her desire.

  Don’t get carried away, she thought, smiling to herself.

  She began twisting her hair into a loose updo, pinning one lock here, curling another there. She left a handful of strands to fall and dance around loosely, adding beads and charms, or repositioning others. She decided on a light makeup look, nothing too heavy, despite the formal gown; it stood on its own, after all. She re-lined her eyes with kohl and swept a powder foundation across her cheeks and nose, then wiped her lips with a stain the color of burgundy roses—or spilled blood.

  A quick glance in the mirror told her it was good enough, as did a look at her watch. It was already nine pm.

  Max would no doubt be getting impatient.

  She packed the white dress back into her bag, along with her makeup supplies and toiletries, then magicked it closed. If anyone tried to open it, they would have a rather…unfortunate experience.

  She grunted as she lifted it—it was heavier than it looked—and picked up Max’s glasses in her other hand from where he’d left them on the counter. She jerked her chin at the door, using magic to open it. Steam spilled into the adjoining bedroom, like smoke escaping a dragon’s maw. Max stood by the window, his silhouette lit in blue from the sea of lights below. Hands behind his back, his shoulders were tense, as if he were lost in troublesome thoughts.

  Her gaze caught on the broad line of those shoulders; his gray jacket molded to him like a second skin. Then her stare slid lower—down the length of him—to the kilt. He was actually wearing a kilt. The sight drew a smile to her lips. Brown boots grounded the look, completing an ensemble that was both rugged and infuriatingly attractive.

  But she’d come to expect that of him now, she realized.

  “So, you do have a kilt,” she said.

  Max turned, freezing halfway through the motion. His eyes locked on her for a handful of seconds before he completed the turn and let that infuriating smirk curl his mouth. “I dinnae realize ye were dressing to impress me tonight.”

  “I wasn’t,” Tamsin shot back. Still, she couldn’t stop the flush of excitement that burned through her as his gaze slowly traced the lines of her body.

  His mouth thinned at her words, and he closed the distance between them. “Ye wound me.”

  Her heart gave a slight pang at his words. But he was just teasing her. There was no way anything she said would mean enough to hurt him.

  “Here, you forgot these.” She held out his glasses, dropping her bag on the floor as she did so.

  He took them from her, his fingers brushing against hers as he did so—a brush she felt go through her whole body. “I dinnae forget them. Ye held them hostage.”

  “Hostage?” One of her eyebrows rose.

  “Aye, I couldnae go in there and retrieve them, lest I see ye in all yer naked glory. And then risk being turned into a toad. Or newt.” He placed a hand over his heart, as if he had suffered greatly.

  Naked glory? She snorted. “You’re ridiculous.”

  He leaned close then, and she wanted to arch away from the movement, but held her ground purely because, if she were being honest, she didn’t want to. “If I’m ridiculous, Tam, it’s only because ye made me so.”

  “Really? How wonderful. I didn’t realize I had such an effect on you.” She smiled, and his eyes darkened behind those stupid frames, making her heartbeat pick up speed. He opened his mouth to speak, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to hear whatever he had to say.

  “Tell me again why you’re wearing those?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “Because I want to,” he replied, demeanor swiftly changing to affable. It irritated her to no end how easily he could do that when she was feeling anything but.

  “I do have one small problem you might be able to help me with,” she admitted, reluctantly. If she wasn’t worried about expending too much magic on a night where the boundaries between life and death grew thin, she would’ve gone back to Sabrina and begged for her help instead. Although that would have meant possibly portalling into Avalon, which would have taken her power to its very limit.

  “My zip,” she said, exhaling. “I can’t get it all the way up.” She turned, pointing to the gap at the top of her back where four stubborn inches of zipper refused to move.

  “I see.”

  She felt him close the distance between them, his presence warm, solid, and safe against her back. Heat spilled from him onto her bare shoulders, and when his fingers swept over her skin, she shivered, involuntarily.

  “I’d apologize for the cold shower,” he murmured, “but it has given ye the most delightful ghostbumps.”

  “The water was warm, actually.” She’d almost lost herself in his voice, and hoped—stupidly—that he’d lean forward, so close that his mouth would graze her skin when he spoke… “Wait—‘ghostbumps’? Don’t you mean goosebumps?”

 

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