“Look at me,” he says.
I lift my gaze back to him.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs.
My fingers tingle. If I didn’t know better, I’d say I was picking on up his sexual energy. Is that possible? It never happened with Jude.
He strokes my cheeks with his thumbs. “Can I kiss you?”
I love that he’s asking me. “Yes,” I reply, that one word full of feeling.
He lowers his lips to mine, and I close my eyes.
His mouth is surprisingly warm, his lips firm. He presses them to mine, in the center, and holds them there. I’m afraid to breathe in case I spoil the magic of the moment. I can smell his body spray, and the cool, crisp scent of the river nearby. My hands are cold, but his on my face are warm.
He lifts his head and surveys me. “All right?” he asks.
I’m not sure why he’s asking, maybe because he was worried it might remind me of that moment on the riverbank. But it doesn’t. All I know is that this feels right, and I want him to kiss me more than anything in the world.
“Kiss me again,” I whisper.
His lips curve up, and then he lowers them again and presses them to mine, from one corner to the other, light, butterfly kisses that send my heart racing. When he reaches the middle again, he touches his tongue to my bottom lip, lightly, asking for permission. I’m happy to give it, and I part my lips, welcoming the slide of his tongue into my mouth. He lowers his arms around me, and I slide my hands up to his face, then into his hair. We exchange a long, sensual embrace that sends a tingle from my cold earlobes, down my body to my breasts, and then all the way down between my thighs, leaving a sweet, beautiful ache.
Chapter Twelve
Persephone
When he eventually lifts his head, I’m lost in a dream world of sensual desire and longing. “Mmm.” I press my lips together, wishing it could have gone on forever. “You kiss like a god.”
“And you kiss like a goddess.” He gives a short laugh.
“What?”
He shakes his head and takes my hand. “We should go. I don’t want you to freeze out here.”
“One more thing.” I take out my phone. “Can I take a photo of us?”
“Sure,” he says, amused.
I slide my arm around him, the lights behind us, and take a selfie of the two of us. Samantha and Charlie will like that, plus I’ll be able to use it in a spell, if I need a picture of him.
We walk back through the park, then up the high street to my parents’ house, talking all the way about nothing in particular. We stop by his car, and he turns to me and holds both my hands.
“Can I see you tomorrow?” he asks. “After work again?”
I nod, relieved he wants a second date.
“How about the cinema?” he suggests.
“That would be lovely.”
“Okay, I’ll see what’s on and text you. Probably be a bit earlier, six-ish?”
“Sounds great.”
He glances at the window of my parents’ house. The curtains are drawn, and no light is showing.
“Can I kiss you goodnight?” he asks.
I remind myself that I’m twenty-five and it doesn’t matter even if they are watching. “Definitely.”
He smirks and lowers his lips to mine. It’s a shorter kiss this time, just a few presses of his lips, but no less sweet for that. When he eventually moves back, there’s regret in his eyes, the same as I know must be in mine.
“Thank you for a lovely evening,” I tell him.
“Thank you. Stay warm and safe. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I nod and watch as he goes over to his car and gets in. He starts it up and waves, then pulls away and heads along the road.
Pressing my lips together, still feeling the touch of his to them, I let myself inside the house.
Mum pokes her head around the living room door. “How did it go?”
“Amazing meal. The Green Man is a super pub.”
She rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean. He’s a gorgeous young man, Persy. And so polite.”
I smile. “He’s lovely. It was a really nice evening.”
“Are you seeing him again?” Dad comes to stand beside her.
“Yes, tomorrow night.”
“Oh good, I’m glad, just don’t wear yourself out and do too much too soon,” Mum says.
“I am a bit tired,” I admit. It’s a half-truth. “I think I’ll go to bed.”
“All right, sweetheart. Glad it went well, and we’ll see you tomorrow.” They go back into the living room where I can hear they’re watching Stranger Things.
I take off my jacket and boots, then go up the stairs and into my room.
Flopping back onto the bed, I stare up at the ceiling, remembering Mac’s lips pressed to mine, the way the sensual slide of his tongue made me clutch my fingers in his hair. Mmm. I stroke down over my tummy, tempted to relieve myself of the ache deep inside while I dream about what it would be like to go to bed with him, to have his mouth on my breast, to have him moving inside me.
And then there it is again, that niggling feeling, a frisson of uncertainty. A sixth sense that tells me all is not as it seems.
I sit up, my heart racing. There’s only one way to tell whether my gut instinct is right on this occasion.
I gather all the bits and pieces I need, then unlock my phone and pull up the photo of the two of us I took in the park and place it before me. I sit comfortably on the bed, cross-legged, invite the four elements, and cast the circle, drawing it with my finger around me as I say the chant.
After this, I spend time creating more protection crystals. I’ll make sure to carry one with me at all times from now on.
When I’m done with that, and I’ve placed a ring of protection crystals around me, I sit back against the pillow and make myself comfortable. I try to quell my nerves. I hate that the invasion of my sacred space has made me anxious about doing this.
In front of me, next to my phone, is a lone candle in a dish. I pick up a packet of herbs—rosemary, lavender, marjoram, parsley—take a pinch, and sprinkle them around the candle. Beside me is my pack of Tarot cards. Samantha is the expert with the cards, but I still use them in my spells. I shuffle them, cut them, and turn over the top card.
I’m expecting to see a male card—the Emperor, a Knight, a King. Part of me hopes for the Lovers. Instead, it’s the Moon. It symbolizes secrets and hidden matters. Nothing is as it seems by moonlight. There’s definitely something going on beneath the surface.
“Goddess, I welcome you to this place, please bring your blessing to my sacred space, be with me, within me, before me, behind me, beneath me, above me, protect all around me.”
The Goddess is with me, protecting me. I draw a deep, shaky breath before I continue.
“Goddess, I beg you answer my prayer, inform me whether to trust or beware, let your answer form from my breath, and tell me the truth about Callum Macbeth.”
I blow out a long breath across the top of the candle.
Hovering about six inches above the flame, a shape takes form. It’s a circle, divided into two teardrop shapes, one black with a white dot, one white with a black dot—the Chinese yin and yang symbol. I stare at it as it rotates slowly as if stirred by the heat from the flame.