Page 91 of Impractical Magic

Downstairs in the store, the phone continued to ring.

Nate’s hands slid down to her hips, pulling her tighter against him.

“You know it’s my goddamn mother,” she whispered.

“Let her wait.”

She smiled, feeling happier than she had in a long time. For a moment, she allowed herself to forget about the grove, Louise Demain’s words and even Papa—about all the challenges that lay ahead and all the mistakes that lay behind. “I wish we could stay like this forever,” she murmured.

Nate kissed her again, more urgently this time. She could feel his desire growing, and her own need responded in kind. It felt like something she’d been searching for her whole life.

His hands slid down her back, his touch electric even through the fabric of the T-shirt. Her pulse quickened, a delicious heat spreading through her. Her hands slid down his chest, feeling the hard lines of muscle beneath his shirt.

Years of wanting came crashing over them. Meeting his eyes, she said, “Nate, nothing has felt this right in . . . maybe ever.”

“Then let’s make it count,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

The world narrowed. It was just the two of them, the feel of his hands on her skin, the heat radiating from their bodies. He trailed kisses down her neck, his touch feather-light yet electrifying. Scarlett moaned softly, her body arching instinctively toward his. Once their clothes were nothing but a tangle on the floor, Nate traced the outline of her nakedness with deft hands. Her collarbone, her shoulders, the curve of her hip. He gently eased her legs apart, breathing her in.

“Scarlett,” he whispered, his voice like velvet over her bare skin, “you’re so beautiful.” Nate’s touch, a slow exploration, sent shivers dancing across her skin like fireflies.

She breathlessly whispered, “You too, Nate.”

But as close as he was, she suddenly felt he was much too far away. She needed him—needed him on her, in her, caressing every part of his body with every part of hers. She reached down to pull him up to her, the outline of his face stark and perfect. His lips found hers again, a hungry meeting with no more hesitation, only the fierce joy of a long-awaited homecoming. Scarlett’s fingers threaded urgently through his hair as they lost themselves in the rhythm only their bodies could understand. Each kiss was a promise finally kept. The weight of him felt like a declaration, unspoken yet understood.

A choked gasp escaped her. Heat bloomed, spreading to encompass her entire being. She felt raw, exposed, yet utterly safe in his arms.

Time seemed to warp and bend, the only constant being the frantic rhythm of their hearts and the deepening sighs that escaped them both.

The room itself seemed to shimmer. Then, with a shuddering breath, Nate was inside her.

“Scarlett . . .” he rasped.

There were no more words, just a tangled mess of emotions—joy, relief, yearning, a fierce need to possess everything he was and could be. In that moment, she knew, with a bone-deep certainty, that this was what home felt like.

He cupped her face, his thumb tracing a path down her cheek. “Scarlett, all this time, I . . .” He trailed off, searching for the words.

“Don’t say it,” she whispered. “Show me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Time lost all meaning as they surrendered. Nate’s name escaped her lips in a strangled moan, a mixture of pleasure with the vulnerability of finally letting go. And then, with a final, shuddering breath, they reached a peak that left them clinging to each other, hearts pounding in unison.

As the world slowly came back into focus, the only sound was their ragged breaths echoing in the stillness of the room.

***

Nate dozed off, and Scarlett tried to follow. But her mind was plagued with thoughts of the outside world. She’d close her eyes and see Louise Demain. Or a monstrous raven trying to peck out her eyes. Or red dragonflies darting around a dying oak tree.

Shit.

She got up and aimlessly paced around Nate’s bare apartment, unsure what to do with herself. She knew she ought to return to the inn, but she also desperately did not want to face all that yet. Plus, sneaking out on Nate after what just happened didn’t feel especially sportsmanlike.

She stared at Nate’s bookshelves and pulled out a Philip K. Dick anthology. Unable to muster enough focus enough to even decide on a story to read, she sighed and put it back.

Scarlett plunked down at Nate’s craft table to study his ship-in-a-bottle project. The pirate ship made her think about Nate’s ancestor: the Great Sea Wolf, Earl of Anglia, the Terror of Tortuga. If the legends about him were even partially true, he’d committed an entire galleon’s worth of sins—he had far more blood on his hands than Scarlett. And Oak Haven had accepted him anyway. If he’d been forgiven, perhaps she could be as well?

But, of course, all that spilled blood belonged to outsiders. He’d never killed a Melrose.

“Uh-oh.”