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Gwyn shrugged. “Don’t seek to question my grudge-holding ways, Rhys. I’m a Taurus.”
To catch someone’s eye and know what they were thinking. To be in a room full of people and know that that person was yours. To not just enjoy someone, but enjoy the person she was with them.
“Is this where we begin snapping our fingers and launch into a dance battle?” Dammit, that’s actually kind of a good joke.
And when her eyes briefly met his, her cheek dimpling with a Go fuck yourself smile, Wells realized he had never been attracted to any woman more in his life. Well, that was bloody inconvenient.
A stupid love spell that had rained down on them because they’d been arguing, which is all they ever did, so it was clearly the most powerful love spell in existence, and Rhiannon’s tits, she was climbing all over a man she didn’t even like because of a shower of cotton candy sex dust.
You kissed Wells Penhallow because you wanted to kiss Wells Penhallow.”
Who swooned for their own husband?
“Every space is the ‘correct’ space for a bit of snogging. Apartments. Cars. Libraries.” One side of his mouth kicked up. “Cellars . . . ”
“What I want,” Wells said, his voice low, “you infuriating.” His lips brushed hers, the barest hint of a kiss, and Gwyn shivered. “Completely terrifying.” Another brush, slightly firmer this time. “Bloody gorgeous madwoman, is to watch you come.”
And part of it was probably the fact that he was, he suspected, falling quite desperately in love with her and would do whatever she wanted him to.
My magic is not something anyone can take from me, she thought, her mind clear. It is mine. And it’s still there.
“And if I wanted to call you mine?” she asked, her voice low, and Wells’s grip tightened on her hand. “I’ll be that until I die.”
