Page 85 of Bedeviled

You’d be surprised how much faster I learned about nudes than I did about other aspects of the modern world. Every damn head I peered into had something to say about them…

While Memnon and I have our own internal conversation, Matt looks like he’s regretting every single life choice that led him to this moment.

“Um…”

Memnon thumps him on the back. “Have a good day, Matt.”

“Ring me if you need anything,” he calls out weakly as Memnon steers me to the elevators.

One is already open and waiting. With more than a little apprehension, I step onto the same elevator that only two weeks ago knocked me out.

The doors shut, and up we go.

Memnon’s office is on the top floor—or rather, his former boss’s office was on the top floor, and just like the kings of old, Memnon toppled him and took his throne.

And though there is technically no throne to speak of, the imposing desk at the back of the room may as well be one.

Two walls of the massive office are entirely made of glass, and the marble floors are covered in a sumptuous Persian rug.

“What do you think?”

I glance over at Memnon, who wears a button-up shirt and pleated pants and a pair of dress shoes. “They have almost civilized you.”

He flashes me a devious grin, and there is my Memnon, who smiled like that on the back of his horse, when the summer sun beat down on his sweaty skin and the wind had made tangles in his long hair, and his muscles were swollen from the exertion of training.

He steps forward, into my space. “They could never.”

His eyes seem luminous, and I sense his happiness across our bond as he tucks a stray strand of my hair behind my ear.

I don’t know what possesses me to reach out and trail my fingers across his jaw, the tips of them inevitably finding the raised line of his scar.

Memnon closes his eyes, relishing the touch.

My heart is too full, and across our bond, I feel the deep well of Memnon’s love. It’s strange and marvelous that his love is there at all, given how much of his conscience his magic has likely eaten up.

I’m about to draw away my hand when he captures it, pinning it against his face.

“Please don’t stop,” he says, his eyes tightly closed. “Not just yet.”

I swallow, part of me uneasy about staying like this. This sort of physical contact isn’t sexual or forced. It isn’t even curious. Just wondrous and a little adoring.

I give him a soft smile.

Memnon’s gaze drops to my lips and his magic seems to leak out of him, billowing around us more and more thickly.

He shakes his head. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but if you want me to keep my distance, little witch, you shouldn’t touch me like that.”

I can’t quite catch my breath when I say, “Maybe I don’t want you to keep your distance.” This was my main reason for coming, after all.

On Memnon’s desk, the phone rings. The sorcerer makes no move to get it.

“Are you going to answer that?” I finally ask.

“When I have you right where I want you?” Memnon says. “Not a chance.”

Awww, that’s sweet.

The noise eventually cuts out.