Must Love Magic (Magic & Mayhem Book 2)

by Erica Ridley

  But he didn’t.

  He loosened his hold around her waist. He lifted his mouth from hers. He pressed his lips to her forehead and then turned back toward the car.

  She tried to slow her runaway heart.

  Becoming attached to a human was not a smart thing to do. Fantasizing about the rough stubble of his jaw line against her cheek, the passionate heat in his eyes first thing in the morning, the way he wanted to do something nice for her even though she’d swooped in and ruined his life, were all Very Bad Things to think about. Letting him into her heart even the tiniest bit was the worst thing she could let herself do.

  But it had never felt more right.

  When night fell, Trevor laced his hand with hers and drove home in silence. In the driveway, however, he couldn’t bring himself to lug his briefcase back inside and refocus on work. Once Daisy translated the last of the documents, she’d be that much closer to disappearing for good. Not that he didn’t want them translated—he did, desperately—but maybe he could wait to write his life-changing article for just a few more minutes.

  A few more minutes with Daisy.

  He circled the car to open the passenger door, and helped her out. “Let’s go this way.”

  Hand in hand, they followed the narrow path leading from his backyard into the adjoining woods. He tried not to analyze how companionable an early evening walk seemed, how surreal and relationship-y the moment was with the rustling of the leaves and the dappled sunlight and the twittering birds and the scent of recent rain. He tried not to think too much about how he’d stopped thinking of her like a necessary evil and more like… a girlfriend.

  He didn’t want strings attached. Did he? No. Of course not. He had too much responsibility and far too busy a schedule to fritter time away being anyone’s boyfriend.

  If there was room in his life for relationships, he’d already be married with two kids and a dog. He had so little free time he couldn’t even have goldfish anymore. This was hardly the time to strike up an inter-dimensional romance with, say, an apprentice tooth fairy. No matter how comfortable her hand felt in his. Or how he yearned for her kisses.

  They were far too different for such a thing to work. She’d pointed that out herself. He was human. She was not.

  He was used to doing things the hard way, controlling his own future, forging through life on his own steam. She was used to jetting from here to there with a where-frog, getting dressed with a handful of clothes powder, sharing a floating farm with a winged horse. He liked his life meaningful and uncomplicated. He liked driving from Point A to Point B in the car he’d had to give up golfing to afford. Even more, he liked following the laws of physics and knowing everyone around him was doing the same.

  Textbook irreconcilable differences.

  No matter what ridiculous fantasies his idiot heart might be wishing, his brain knew without a doubt that when she left, it would be for the best. On the other hand, his body seemed to think that if he was already on borrowed time, he might as well make the most of it. His backyard was nice and private. What was holding him back?

  Before he could ruin a good idea with logic, his arms were around her waist, pinning her against a tree. Eagerly, his mouth devoured hers.

  He hadn’t meant to kiss her. Mostly. But once he started, he couldn’t find the will to stop. Didn’t want to find the will to stop. Especially since she wasn’t stopping him.

  Her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer. He deepened the kiss, his right hand in her hair, cradling the back of her head. The sharp, scratchy bark busted up the backs of his hands, but at least he was protecting her from getting hurt. Her tongue licked against his, slowly, temptingly. He loved the feel of her body against his. He could kiss her forever.

  He slid one hand over the curve of her hip and beneath her mint-colored sweater. She didn’t break the kiss. Neither did he. He wasn’t sure what was softer, the cashmere against the back of his hand or the smooth skin beneath his palm. Her flesh was definitely hotter, searing him with shared desire.

  His pulse pounded. Unlike him, she’d never bothered to hide the reluctant attraction brewing between them. He could appreciate that. More fool him for not wising up sooner.

  He moved his hand a little higher, grazing the underside of one breast with his fingertips. God, he ached to touch her, to feel her, to have her. Needed this. Needed her. He edged his hand along the left side, knuckles grazing the plump curve.

  It had been pure torture to keep away from her as long as he had, but it had been the right thing to do. Reluctantly, he forced himself to stop, to pull away and break the kiss.

  Sensing his withdrawal, Daisy’s arms unwound from his neck. She covered his hand with hers, just like he’d done in the computer lab. He’d wanted her then, and he wanted her now. Her hand still guiding his, Daisy slid his palm up over her silken bra until his trembling fingers closed around her breast.

  She was his dream woman.

  He cupped the soft weight in his hand and tried to breathe. She arched into his touch. He rubbed the pad of his thumb over her nipple. She moaned into his mouth, chocolate-y and sweet. He nudged her legs apart with his knee, wishing he had a free hand to explore between her thighs.

  Her right hand still covered his, as though afraid he might stop touching her if she let go. No worries there. He’d rather die.

  Her left hand skimmed down his back, around his waist, to the front of his jeans. With only minor fumbling, she managed to figure out both the button and the zipper and slide her warm palm beneath the elastic of his boxer shorts.

  His cock leapt into her hand. With agonizing slowness, her fingers closed around its hot length and squeezed. He gasped into her mouth, more desperate for her than ever. His hips bucked forward as she stroked him, but his mouth never left hers.

  What was he going to do when she left? God, he couldn’t think about that. The thought of having his memory erased created an ache deep in his soul. He held her even closer, kissed her even harder. He might not have any say about forgetting her, but he wanted her to remember him.

  He hauled her up so her legs straddled his waist and then flipped around so it was his shoulders and back leaning against the trunk of the tree. With his hands cupping her tight derrière, he rubbed her pelvis against his throbbing cock and wished like hell she wasn’t wearing pants so he could make the simulation a reality.

  He tore his mouth from hers long enough to ask, “Where’s the clothes powder?”

  “Passenger seat.” She nudged her mouth under his for another kiss.

  He rubbed his stubbled cheek across her lips and grinned when she licked him. “Too far. Luckily, I know how jeans work.” Then he stilled, holding her body close. “But I don’t know how the fairy reproductive system works. I’ve got condoms in the house. Do we need them? Do fairies even have to worry about becoming impregnated by humans?” Something they definitely should have discussed the first time, if they hadn’t been under the influence of a lust charm.

  She bit her lower lip. “I don’t know. Maybe? Since I’m half fairy, half angel myself, I’d have to guess that cross-fertilization could be quite possible.”

  “As far as I’m concerned, you’re all angel.” He let her slide onto the ground. “But since neither of us wants the complication of a colicky quarter-angel just yet, maybe we’d better head back inside.”

  The passionate heat of frustrated desire glinting in her eyes almost made him reconsider, but then she nodded, re-buttoned his jeans, and reached for his hand.

  The powerwalk back to the house held a much different charge than the stroll into his backyard.

  He squeezed her hand and they shared a conspiratorial grin. The only magic between the trees back there was the magic they’d created themselves. There was no coercion, no spells, no Himalayan Lust Charm. They hadn’t been about to rut like animals in some drunken pixie dust haze.

  They’d been about to make love—and that was much, much scarier.

  Chapter 17<
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  On their way to the front door, Trevor retrieved his briefcase from the back seat. Daisy scooped up her handbag and slung the strap over her shoulder. She wasn’t sure what was crazier—that she’d almost had sex up against a tree, or that her aching body wished they hadn’t stopped.

  She followed Trevor to the front steps and watched him from the corner of her eye while he slid his key in the lock. He hadn’t spoken since they’d disentangled in front of the tree. Despite the breath-stealing heat in his eyes, maybe he’d decided a romantic interlude with her was one complication he still had time to stop.

  She cleared her throat when they entered the house. “Should we get started on that Angus paperwork?”

  “Daisy.” He shot her his professorial “I’m in charge” look. Probably it shouldn’t have turned her on. “You have your purse. You have your clothes powder. You have exactly ten seconds to get naked or I’m going to tackle you to the floor and rip your clothing right off of you, Incredible Hulk-style.”

  Well. She gulped. That was straightforward. Except for the bit about the Incredible Hulk.

  He stood motionless, his dark eyes never straying from her face, as though waiting to see her comply with his order.

  She could hardly wait. She started to slip a hand into her bag for the clothes powder, then stilled. Would Trevor really rip the clothes from her body? What if she said please?

  He gazed at her as though her silence and immobility were an arrow through his heart.

  “What?” he demanded, his voice hoarse and raw. “If you’re having second thoughts, I totally understand. I might crumple and die, but I’ll understand. Or, I might masturbate and then die. Yeah, probably that.”

  She shook her head and nibbled on her lip. “It’s not that. It’s… well, I’ve never had anybody undress me. To be honest, I didn’t even consider it a possibility until you mentioned it just now.” Crap. She could feel the blush burning her skin. “And I wondered if it’d be nice.”

  As the last word left her mouth, he scooped her off the ground and into his arms. She gasped. He cradled her close, one arm around her shoulders and the other beneath her knees. She craned upward, trying to gauge his expression. He lowered his head until his breath misted against her earlobe, steaming her skin and expanding her heart.

  “I’m going to take off every single thing you’re wearing, one piece at a time,” he murmured, the words hot and moist against her cheek. “And I’m going to make you love every minute of it.”

  His words lit her blood with a blaze to rival Beltane.

  A delicious shiver raced across her skin, her body already responding to the promise of an undreamed of seduction. Her arms twined around his neck. He strode down the hallway, holding her tight to his chest. She pressed a thousand and one kisses to his neck.

  He went for the bed and settled her onto the covers. Eyes dark with passion and something much, much stronger, he stood at the edge of the bed and gazed down at her. “Would you like your sneakers off?”

  She nodded, breathless.

  A wicked grin tweaked the corners of his lips. “Say please.”

  She’d say anything he wanted, as long as it got them both naked. “Take off my shoes. Please.”

  With a graceful incline of his head, he knelt at the foot of the bed. He tugged off first one shoe and then the other, taking the socks with them. His hands closed over her left foot. His strong thumbs massaged the arch, the pad, each toe. She could have swooned. He repeated the process with the other foot, smoothing out the tension with slow, purposeful swirls of pressure.

  As much as she enjoyed the heavenly massage, she couldn’t help but imagine those warm fingers working other parts of her body. She gave her hips a wiggle, just to make sure he knew that the rest of her was eager for his touch, too.

  “Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten.” He sat on the edge of the bed to slide off his shoes and socks. He started to lie down next to her and then paused. “Fair’s fair. I took off something of yours. Now you can take off something of mine.”

  She bolted upright, pulse racing. She hadn’t thought of that. The idea was thrilling. Decadent. She couldn’t wait.

  “What should I take off first?”

  One strong shoulder lifted. “Anything you want. But no clothes powder allowed. You have to do everything with your hands.”

  Mmm. She would love to do everything with her hands. Lifting tentative fingers to his throat, she undid the topmost button of his collared shirt. Without breaking eye contact, he tilted a little closer. She unfastened the next button ever so slowly and peeked up at him through her eyelashes.

  His unwavering gaze filled with fire and passion and naked desire.

  Emboldened, she took her time with the next few buttons, scratching her nails against the white cotton t-shirt underneath. His muscles twitched each time she touched him, as though he wished he’d ripped their clothes off just like he’d threatened to do.

  Maybe she could ask for that next time.

  When the last button slid from its hole, he jerked his arms free from the sleeves and flung the shirt across the room.

  “Cheater!”

  “You took too long,” he growled, sliding his palms up over her hips. “My turn.”

  She raised her arms above her head obediently, expecting him to whip off her sweater with the same impatient ferocity he’d shown his own shirt. Hoping he would.

  Instead, his hands inched upward, bringing the first folds of fabric with them. Although the heat from his skin sent waves of delicious shivers skating up her spine, his fingers barely grazed the swell of her hips, the curve of her waist, the arc of her ribs.

  He stopped, his fingers splayed close to her sides, his thumbs resting just below her breasts. They swelled and tightened in anticipation of his touch. Everything swelled and tightened in anticipation of his touch. She held her breath, dying to feel his palms scrape across her nipples and wishing like crazy she hadn’t conjured a bra.

  He dipped his head forward, capturing her mouth with a series of kisses. Every time his tongue flicked across her lips, teasing her, tasting her, his fingers edged closer and closer to her puckered nipples.

  Arms still crossed high above her head, she arched toward him, sucking his lower lip into her mouth.

  Without lifting his mouth from hers, he finally, finally, held her breasts in his hands. He rolled her nipples between his fingers. A whimper escaped her lips. He smiled. Breaking the kiss only long enough to fling off her sweater at last, he held her to his chest and reached behind her back for the bra strap.

  “Wait. It’s my turn.”

  Grinning, he raised his arms.

  She shook her head. She planted both hands on his chest and pushed him backward onto the covers. His legs hung over the mattress. She slid from the bed to kneel before him. Trembling with desire, she undid the round button at the top of his jeans. The dark blue cotton strained beneath her touch. She ran the tips of her fingers along the outline of the zipper, teasing him as he had teased her. Bit by bit, she tugged the little metal tab downward.

  His breath caught with each click of the zippered teeth. She thrilled with the knowledge she affected him every bit as much as he affected her.

  With the zipper unfastened at last, she curled her fingers around the waistband and tugged. He lifted his hips from the edge of the mattress, making the pants slide off that much easier. She trailed a palm along his heated skin, up his calf, around the back of his knee, the side of his thigh, beneath the front edge of his boxer shorts.

  Just as the tips of her fingers skated alongside his hot, hard length, he slid his hands underneath her arms and hauled her onto the bed.

  Without bothering with more than a growled, “My turn,” he had her jeans unbuttoned, unzipped and disappearing down her legs.

  She nestled back against the pillows and grinned. She loved his turn.

  With a final tug, her jeans flew against the far wall next to the other discarded clothes. He climbed on top of h
er, his fingers buried in her hair, his mouth covering hers.

  She looped her hands around his back and rolled them both over until she was on top. Heart racing, she pushed herself up, so that her knees were on either side of his chest and his erection rubbed against her damp panties. He groaned and reached for her.

  She tucked her hands beneath the bottom edge of his t-shirt and pulled upward.

  “Off,” she commanded.

  As though he’d been waiting to hear that exact word, he crossed his hands behind his head and jerked the shirt off with a speed that rivaled top-grade clothes powder.

  His hands gripped her hips, forcing her body to rub against his with a slow, agonizing friction. Her legs were jelly. She could barely even pant. This exquisite torture only made her want him even more.

  She fell forward, her fingers grasping fistfuls of pillow to either side of Trevor’s head. Maybe people in Nether-Netherland used clothes powder so they wouldn’t spontaneously combust.

  Trevor’s face nuzzled between her breasts. He tugged on the bra with his teeth and began to suckle her through the thin fabric. She wasn’t sure she could take much more. His hips rocked beneath her thighs, pressing his rigid length right where she wanted it.

  “Your turn,” she managed to gasp, her belly aching with frustrated desire. “For the love of Venus, take off my bra so we can get rid of your boxer shorts.”

  Without lifting his mouth from her nipple, his hands glided up over the tense, warm skin covering her spine, leaving shivers of gooseflesh in their wake. She gasped and tried to hold on. With one hand, he unhooked the back of the bra. The straps slid down her shoulders. He nudged the now-damp fabric upward. At last, he captured her naked breast with his mouth and tongue. She could barely breathe with the pleasure of it.

  Her fingers threaded into his soft dark hair as she squirmed against the barrier of his boxers. Her body was so alive with him. After last night’s kisses had led nowhere, she’d been so afraid he hadn’t felt the same sense of—of—what? “Attraction” was too weak of a word to describe how she felt. The utter devastation in every dimpled smile, the shivers from every brush of stubble against naked skin, the helplessness to do anything but pull him to her for more…