Page 43 of Witchy Woman

“Of course they were,” he laughs. “I’d play with you any day.”

Oh, I didn’t need the image of us playing together in my head. All the delightful, sinful things we could do together if I would justlethim.

“Where did your head go?” he murmurs, scooting toward me.

“None of your business,” I reply. My voice is soft, breathy, and I don’t think I like this game anymore. I don’t like knowingjust how carefully he’s been watching me, learning me. Knowing me.

He pays attention to me like no one ever has.

“Unfortunately for you, everything about you is my business. You’re allowed your secrets, your feelings, all the things you want to keep private. But you are my business.”

“You’ve made that pretty clear, considering how well you apparently know me.”

His eyes trail from my legs up to my chest and face. It’s thorough, but not lewd. Appreciative, but not vulgar. “Knowing you is a privilege I plan on earning.”

“Could we—” I swallow around a dry throat. “Could we watch a movie?”

And save me from having to endure the intimacy of this discussion?

He shakes his head, fondness evident in the easy way he smiles. “Go ahead and pick something off Streemz, Goldilocks. I’ll grab some popcorn.”

“Extra butter and salt?”

“Wouldn’t dream of anything else.”

Chapter 21

Doomed

I’m going to combust.

I could do it—my ancestors apparently did. It wouldn’t be that difficult, and it especially wouldn’t be difficult now.

I stare at the sprawling, custom-size bed dominating Ash’s lumberjack-wet-dream bedroom and want to burst into actual flame. The movie is over, and if I thought two hours of low lights and moments of skin brushing against skin would be easier than that game...Well, let’s just say I was completely wrong.

“This is my room,” Ash says softly from behind me. Entirely unnecessarily, really.

“Of course it is, what else would it be?” I snap back, no real bite in my tone.

He only chuckles in reply to my attitude. “Would you like to borrow something to sleep in, or did you bring some PJs in that teeny tiny purse of yours?”

“Your arrogance is astounding.” I run a hand through my blonde waves. “Obviously I’ll have to borrow something, but I don’t know how I’ll fit. You’re—what—eight feet tall and seven hundred pounds?”

“Six foot seven, and you never ask a person’s weight.” He gives me a mock glare. “It’s rude.”

“No wonder I feel like a pixie next to you! You’re an actual forest creature!”

“And you like it. I’ll grab you a t-shirt.”

I refuse to verbally agree with him, because it’s quite obvious I like it. He’s huge and while I’m not almost miniature-sized like Hazel, he makes me feel small. Protected.

How entirely patriarchy coded.

I take another step forward into his space. This bed may be large, but no space is large enough when it comes to me and Ash. How am I supposed to share a bed with him?

He emerges from the closet with a shirt in hand, but that’s not the part that steals the very breath from my lungs.

His own shirt is gone.