She glanced up to find two iridescent moths flickering a few feet over their heads. Burning red in the darkness. She’d barely finished the spell when footsteps headed in their direction. As if on instinct, Gideon’s arm slid around her waist, pulling her hips against his, moving her away from the closet door. Heat poured off him. His scent filled the closet—woodsy, with a hint of gunpowder. Fire raced through her as old memories surfaced: reverent glances; whispered promises; the feel of his hands and mouth and body on hers, skin to skin.
