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“I swear to the goddess, if this is another text about Founder’s Day shit, I am going to go full Carrie on this town.”
“Rhiannon’s tits,” Gwyn said, sitting up so fast that her knee nearly clocked her glass. “They are sending him.”
“Remember when we pretended to curse him?” Gwyn asked, grinning as she shuffled her cards, and Vivi snorted. “Something about his dimples and never being able to find a clitoris again.”
good god, the woman was actually vibrating; how much coffee had she consumed this morning?
“So I think maybe we cursed Rhys.”
“Vivi, if we could actually place curses on people, that bitch who always gives me whole milk when I ask for soy at Coffee Cauldron would be a dead woman by now,”
“I think that if you keep calling him ‘the Dickbag,’ you can’t also act like you’re a matchmaking tween in a Disney movie.” “I contain multitudes.” “Gwyn, I swear—”
“Did you seriously bring me,” she asked through clenched teeth, “to a magic sex cave?”
“I like how my job is the only one with any real threat of danger,” Gwyn said, but off Vivi’s look, she lifted her hands in defeat. “Okay, okay, Operation Soothe the Muggles, I’m on it.”
What Rhys had not expected was for her to step so close that their bodies aligned, chest to chest, hips to hips. “Go for it.”
Vivi had never been one for sex in public, but she’d forgotten that Rhys could make her feel like that, like she’d die if she didn’t have him right that second. Like her skin was too tight, and his was too far away, like she wanted to crawl inside him. And that’s why he was dangerous. She’d forgotten herself once with him, and look what had happened.
Rhys saw Vivienne swallow hard, and for at least the thousandth time, Rhys wished that mind-reading were one of his abilities. Of course, the way things were going right now, he’d probably be able to hear every stray thought of a person within a hundred-mile radius and lose his bloody mind, but it might be worth the risk to know what was going on behind Vivienne’s bright hazel eyes.
And then went out, leaving Rhys and Vivienne in the darkness. Alone.
It’s different this time, she told herself even as she kissed his neck, his jaw, his mouth, anywhere she could reach. It has to be.
“Are you going to ask to kiss me?” Rhys grinned. “I’m gonna ask to do a fuckload more than that if you’ll let me.”
Rhys’s kisses were so drugging, so distracting, that for a minute, Vivi didn’t even notice the room they were in. They could’ve been anywhere, in some blank space where only they existed. That’s how he made her feel. How he’d always made her feel.
“Why didn’t you bring me here before?” “Why didn’t I bring you to the terrifyingly creepy sex dungeon I sleep in?” he asked, his hands behind his back even as his eyes wandered over her in a way that made her blood feel hotter. “Can’t imagine.”
Rhys turned to Vivi, his eyes serious. “It’s my father. He’s here.”
And he would always break her heart. He wouldn’t mean to, he definitely wouldn’t want to, but he would. And who knew what would happen then? Vivi hadn’t meant for any of this to happen, but it had, all because she’d loved him too much, felt too many big feelings for him. And maybe a woman who didn’t have witchcraft running through her veins could risk that kind of thing, but Vivi couldn’t. Not again.
“What’s happened to your face?” Rhys asked just as Bowen scowled and said, “You’re naked.” Sitting up higher in the bed, Rhys dug the heel of his free hand into one eye. “No, I’m not, I just woke up, and—” “Why would you answer a video call naked?” “Why would you attach a badger to your face?”
“See, that’s what I mean,” Bowen said, pointing at the phone with one finger. “Always taking the piss, making jokes. You say she doesn’t trust you, but how can she when you act like nothing matters to you? Like it’s all a big fucking lark?” Rhys blinked. “Have you started giving free therapy to sheep up there, Bowen?”
As soon as Elaine opened the door, the little furry bastard looked up at Rhys and very succinctly said, “Dickbag.” “I defended you the other night, mate,” Rhys said, shaking a finger at Sir Purrcival. “Don’t make me regret it.”
