“Is this how I did it?” I traced her collarbone with my nose, near delirious at the scent of her. My own hips bucked involuntarily. The pressure built. Though a voice at the back of my mind warned me to go no further, I ignored it. We would burn for our sins, the two of us, here and now. I tugged at the laces of her pants. The laces of mine. “Is this how I worshiped you?”

Her eyes remained closed as she arched against me, as her entire body shuddered. I savored the sight. I craved it. When her mouth parted on a gasp, I caught the sound hungrily, plunging my hand lower. Fingers curling. Thrusting. Seeking. In this moment, I could have her—I could worship her—and pretend she was mine.

Just this once.

My throat constricted inexplicably at the thought, and my chest tightened. I moved my fingers faster now, chasing that empty promise. Pressing her into the door once more. “Show me,” I whispered on a ragged breath. “Please. Show me how we used to be.”

Her own eyes snapped open, and she stopped moving abruptly. “What’s wrong?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t answer. Shaking my head, I kissed her again, desperate to try. Desperate to relieve this ache between us—this yearning I’d once known and almost remembered. I wanted it. I feared it. I kissed her until I couldn’t tell the difference.

“Reid.” Her fingers curled around my wrist. With a start, I realized she’d pulled free. She eased my hand from her pants now, her eyes fixed steadily upon mine. They shone with keen emotion. Though I wanted to name the feeling I saw there, to acknowledge it, I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. “Not . . . not like this. You aren’t ready.”

“I’m fine—”

“I don’t think you are.” Leaning forward, she pressed a kiss upon my forehead, featherlight. The tenderness in the movement nearly broke me. The intimacy. “Slow down, Reid. We have time.”

Slow down, Reid. We have time.

We have time.

Defeated, I withdrew at the words, my forehead falling to the crook of her neck. My hands bracing against the door. She sank slowly to the floor as silence descended. When I didn’t break it, only clenched my fists against the wood, she nuzzled her cheek against my hair. She actually nuzzled me. I closed my eyes. “Talk to me,” she whispered.

“I can’t.” The words fell thick from my tongue. Clumsy. “I’m sorry.”

“Never apologize for being uncomfortable.”

“I’m not uncomfortable. I’m—I’m—” Adrift. Though I wrenched my face up to stare at her then, I immediately regretted the decision. Her eyebrows, her nose, her freckles. And those eyes—I could drown in those eyes. Light from the windows sparkled within their turquoise depths. This close, I could see the ring of icy blue around her pupils. The sea-green flecks of her irises. She couldn’t keep looking at me like this. She couldn’t keep touching me like she—like she— “Why don’t I remember you?” I demanded.

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.