Those beautiful eyes blinked. “You chose to forget.”

“Why?”

“Because you loved me.”

Because you loved me.

Throwing my hands in the air, I stalked across the cabin. It made no sense. If I’d loved her, why had I left her? If I’d embraced her as a witch—if I’d embraced myself—why had I given it up? Had I been happy? Had she? The way she said my name . . . it spoke of more than a fleeting moment of lust.

It spoke of more.

Like a moth to a flame, I faced her once more. “Show me.”

She furrowed her brows in response, her hair wilder than when she’d first entered. Her collar lower. Her lips swollen and her pants undone. Through the laces, an inch or two of taut golden skin teased me. When I moved to close the distance between us—again—she tilted her head to one side, catlike. “What are you saying?”

Swallowing hard, I forced myself to stop. To repeat the words. “Show me how we used to be.”

“Are you asking me . . . do you want to remember?” When I only stared at her, she shook her head slowly, drifting closer. Still studying me. She seemed to be holding her breath. “Silence isn’t an answer.”

“I don’t know.”

The words came in a rush, as honest as I could give. Just speaking them aloud stripped me bare. I could hardly look at her. But I did. I looked at her, forced to acknowledge my own indecision. My despair and my hope.

A pause as she considered. A small, wicked smile. “All right.”

“What?”

“Sit”—she pointed a finger behind me—“on the couch.”

I sank onto the cushions without another word, eyes wide—heart pounding—as she followed, leaning against the table to face me. As she hoisted herself up on its edge. Close enough to touch. Something in her expression stilled my hand, however, even as she flicked her wrist, locking the cabin door. The scent of magic erupted around us. “There. No one can see us. No one can hear us, either.”

“Is that supposed to frighten me?”

“Does it?”

I leveled her with a dark look. Whether intended or not, I’d involved myself with a witch—a witch I wanted in every sense of the word. A witch I wanted to taste and feel and know. All of it should’ve frightened me. The last most of all. But— “It doesn’t.”

“Tell me where you’d like to touch me, Reid. Tell me, and I’ll do it for you. I’ll show you how we used to be.”

I stared at her hungrily, hardly daring to believe it. She stared back at me. After another moment, she arched a brow, slipping each foot from her boots. Her stockings came next. “If you’d rather not, of course, I understand. There are two beds. We could rest for a while instead.”

“No.” The word tore from me instinctively. Quick and thoughtless. Cursing my own eagerness, I exhaled an uneven breath. Slow down, Reid. We have time. She’d given me this opportunity to master myself. To regain some semblance of control. Obviously she’d underestimated her appeal. My thumbs itched to rub along her bare soles, to slip over her toes and up her ankles. I glanced at the door.

She feigned a yawn.

My eyes locked on hers, searching, and in them, I saw the truth. She wanted my thoughts clear, yes, but not just for my sake. For hers as well. Make up your mind, Reid, she’d said before. You can’t string me along forever, blowing hot one minute and cold the next.

Scooting to the edge of the couch, careful not to touch her, I said, “I want—I want you to—” But the words wouldn’t come. Honesty choked me. Honesty and fear. For how far I’d go, how far she’d go, how far we’d gone already.

She cocked her head, her gaze alight with fire. It threatened to devour us both. “Whatever you want, Reid.” Softer, she said, “Tell me.”

My fear melted at the depth in her voice. The pure, unbridled emotion.

Love.

I quickly shook away the thought. “Take off your pants.”

If my request surprised her, she didn’t show it. She didn’t hesitate. Slowly, torturously, she peeled her pants down her legs. Her eyes never left mine. Not until she’d stripped the leather fabric away completely.

My mouth went dry at the sight.

I’d been captivated by her collarbone. Now the whole of her bare legs stretched out before me. Still perched atop the table, the tips of her toes barely reached the floor. Her shirt billowed around her, however. It hid her from me. Resisting the urge to lean forward, I curled my fingers into the cushion and watched, silent, as she leaned back on her hands, swinging her feet as if bored.

She wasn’t bored.

“Now what?” she asked. The hitch in her voice revealed the lie. The breathlessness.

“Your shirt.”

“You’re supposed to tell me where you’d like to touch me.”

“I want to see you first.”

And I did. I wanted—no, needed—to see her like a starving man needed sustenance. Her eyes narrowed, but she gradually lifted the hem of her top, revealing more of that golden skin. Inch by torturous inch. After sliding it overhead, she tossed it in a pool at my feet. “And now?”

And now she was naked. Gloriously so. Though I longed to touch her, to reach out and trace the curve of her waist, I kept my hands fisted in the cushions. She wanted me to dictate each touch. She wanted to hear every word for what it was—a decision. Small decisions, yes, but decisions nonetheless. Honest ones. There could be no lies between us here. Not like this.

Not like this.

“Your thigh,” I said, unable to tear my gaze away from her ankles, her calves, her knees. Unable to think coherently, to speak more than a handful of syllables. Too enthralled to be embarrassed. “Touch it.”

Her belly undulated with laughter at the command. Her shoulders shook with it. I feasted on the sound, on the sight—each intake of breath, each exhalation. Though each bout rang high and clear, delighted, she had no business sounding so innocent. Not when her body burned as sin incarnate.

“I need more than that, Chass. Be specific.” Leaning forward, she swept her hand casually to the middle of her thigh. “Here?” When I shook my head, swallowing hard, she trailed a single finger higher. Higher still. “Or . . . here?”

“What does it feel like?” Unable to help myself, I pitched upright, swift and unsteady. My hands trembled with the need to replace hers, but I resisted. I couldn’t touch her now. I’d never stop. “Imagine it’s my hand, and tell me exactly how your skin feels.”