a non-committal nod.” Rafe’s eyes traced the line of my jaw, the swing of my hair as it curled over one shoulder, the smooth column of my neck. Everywhere except my eyes. Why wouldn’t he look at me? What was he afraid he’d see? “I need a firm promise that you’ll leave the past be.”
“Fine.” I threw my hands in the air. What difference did my promises make? I wasn’t anything to him anymore, my words meant nothing. “If I promise not to bring up the past, do you promise to give working with me a fair shot?”
Finally, he met my eyes. His brows rose in challenge and a spark of the old Rafe shone through. “I think we should shake on it. To make our deal official.”
A short laugh escaped my lips before I could choke it back. “Are you looking to take another hit to your head? I know it’s hard and all, but why risk it?”
“I can control myself if you can.” He curled two fingers forward in a beckoning motion. “Come on, buttercup, what are you so scared of?”
“Are you ever going to quit calling me that?”
He tucked one of his hands into the front pocket of the gray sweatpants I’d given him last night and held the other out to me, widening his stance. “Make me.”
What the hell was this? Was he… playing with me? Challenging me? Purposefully trying to drive me out of my mind? We didn’t do playful challenges. At least, not in the last four years. If he wanted me to take him seriously, this wasn’t the way to go about it.
“Is this a trick?” I stared at his open palm, afraid it might shock me if I got too close. “Or did that lamp rewire your brain?”
“Huh.” He rubbed his jaw, which was usually clean-shaven, but he’d let it become deliciously peppered with stubble since we lost the sun. “I knew you’d probably changed a lot in the last four years, but I never thought you’d become a coward.”
I narrowed my eyes. It was like he was begging for another concussion.
Lifting my chin and calling on every bit of pride I’d earned the last four years, I stepped up to him and slapped my hand against his open palm. A burst of bright white light flared against the deep blue flowing from me. Our magic didn’t tangle together so much as it pushed and pulled at each other, teeth gnashing, claws digging in deep, determined to chew the very soul out of the other. It was vicious and brutal and consuming.
Wetness pooled between my legs and I rubbed my thighs together. The slickness both embarrassed and fascinated me. How could I be this turned on with just a touch? Kenna had told me all about the side effects, but I didn’t really understand how potent they were until now.
Rafe’s poor sweatpants were no match for the bulge protruding from the front, determined to escape its cloth confine. “You ready to let go yet?”
I unabashedly stared at his growing length. Gray sweatpants. What the hell had I been thinking, giving him those? He might as well have been wearing a chalk outline. Nothing said “here lies cock” like gray sweatpants.
I licked my lips and another flood of heat rushed through me when his dick twitched in response. This entire experiment was killing me softly. “You first.”
“I’m fine.” Beads of sweat dotted his forehead, and his icy blue eyes had turned nearly black, but sure. We could go with fine. “Do something with your magic.”
“Like what?” Why should this all be dumped on me? “You’ve got magic too, you know.”
He gritted his teeth. “It’s magicking.”
The pictures I’d just rehung had once again lifted from their hangers and were floating in the air, along with our coffee mugs, and a dead plant Kenna had brought over from Brooke’s garden in an effort to cheer up my apartment. But his magic wasn’t doing anything. Objects just floated in the air on shaky invisible strings.
“I think you can do better than that,” I said.
“I think you can quit stalling and show me what you’ve got. Spit out the first image that pops into your head. Unless it’s me naked.” He gave me a roguish grin. “That’s what it is, isn’t it? You’re picturing me naked.”
“I am now,” I muttered. Which was a lie. I’d been picturing him this whole time.
If I made an illusion of a naked Rafe appear, I’d never get the upper hand in this so-called partnership. He’d know exactly how I felt about him because it would all be spelled out, right there, in picture-perfect detail. I couldn’t let that happen.
Closing my eyes and clenching my magic tight against me, I willed away any thoughts of Rafe without those damned sweatpants. Not that they offered much in the way of discretion.
I did my best to think of puppies, flowers, literally anything else. Mr. Peanut. I always did like his charming little top hat and monocle. Magic flared from my palms, but I kept my eyes firmly closed. Just in case. No reason to make all this harder on myself.
“What the fuck, Jocelyn?” The panic in Rafe’s voice had my eyes flying open.
Holy shit.
It shouldn’t have been funny. It was actually kind of terrifying. But I couldn’t contain the laughter that bubbled up in my throat and caused me to choke on my own spit. I was not the right person for this power. My mind was way too messed up for this.
In the middle of my living room stood a six-foot illusion of Mr. Peanut wearing gray sweatpants and sporting an enormous boner.
Rafe immediately dropped his hold on me and slapped a hand over his eyes. “I’m serious. Put that fucking thing away, back in your mind or wherever the hell it came from.”
As I tried to get my inappropriate giggles under control, I waited for my light to fully dim, unable to do anything about the obscene Mr. Peanut until he flickered away on his own. Before he fully disappeared, a faint gold outline hovered in the air for a millisecond. Too fleeting to make out any kind of shape from it.
Getting control of my illusions should probably be my first order of business.
“Okay.” I snort-giggled again. “He’s gone now. It’s safe to come out.”
Slowly, he spread his fingers and peeked between them before lowering his hand. “I’m fucking traumatized for life. I hope you’re proud of yourself.”
I gave him a bright smile. “Extremely.”
He stared at me for a beat. Two beats. Then shook his head. “Your magic can’t be trusted. Let me try to move some things around. You just…” He waved a hand, communicating absolutely nothing. “Don’t think about anything.”
I rolled my eyes. It’s not like I wanted to see Mr. Peanut’s giant cock. Until we sorted through our shit and began to trust each other, our magic had no chance of working properly. Kenna had burned her own bar down back when she thought she hated Galen.
And while my illusions had mostly been harmless—disturbing, but harmless—what would happen if Rafe touched me while I was thinking about Kyle? Or remembering something he’d said or done? What if that happened while we were outside this room? Someplace Kyle’s mom and sisters could see us? How harmless would my illusions be then?
I’d promised Rafe we could practice without bringing up the past, and I’d do my best to honor that, but how long would it be before the past brought itself to us?
I shuddered, thinking about the things I’d kept locked in my mind for four years. And just how much damage they could do if they were ever let out.
Shaking out my arm and emptying my head as much as possible, I held my hand out to Rafe, palm up. “If I start to conjure anything, let go of me before it can form.”
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
“Nothing you want to talk about right now.”
The light that had started to return to his eyes dimmed again. But what was I supposed to do? Not warn him? He didn’t want my honesty, that much was clear, but I wouldn’t blindside him either. We had too much at stake to waste time on mind games.
“Let’s just get this over with.” He slapped his palm against mine. As if it would be that easy. As if controlling the magic between us was a one-and-done thing.
He raised his other hand, focusing in on my bookshelf. At least he was trying to keep his magic away from anything breakable. An assortment of paperback romances and gothic mysteries I’d picked up at estate sales on the mainland floated off my shelf. They hovered on that shaky string that held them in the air. Pinching his lips tightly together, Rafe closed his fist.
And shoved me to the ground, covering my body with his, when the books flew straight for us. They bounced against the opposite wall and hit the floor with a thud. Several of the yellowing pages came loose from their bindings.
Rafe stood and helped me up, dusting off the front of my tank top before he realized his hands had roamed dangerously close to my erect nipples. “Sorry.”
Stepping away from him to give myself a little breathing room, I poked at one of the books with my toe, but it didn’t move. Once his magic released an object, it ceased to be mobile. Another yellowing page slid away from the cheap binding of one of my vintage gothic books. A copy of The Brazen Captive’s Surrender lay open, spine up. The book that featured the most roguish of pirates, Captain Rafe Cannon.
Rafe glanced at his namesake, his expression giving nothing away.
Broken glass from last night still glittered on my hardwood. My pictures all had cracked frames. There weren’t any lamps left in my living room. Just an old ceiling fan overhead with three of the four bulbs burned out.
I faced him with my hands on my hips. “Is there anything else in my apartment you’d like to destroy? I’m pretty sure I’ve got some priceless family heirlooms in my closet, if you’d like to give those a whirl.”
A growl rumbled in his chest. “Just get over here.”
“So bossy.”
The corner of his lip tipped up and for a moment, it was like it used to be. When we had no guilt, no blame between us. Suddenly, my mind was flooded with memories of those days when just the two of us would hang out on the rock wall by the beach, waiting for Kyle to finish football practice, and I wanted to see them.
I wanted to smell coconut oil and the briny scent of salt water. I wanted to taste fried cornbread on my tongue. And I wanted my heart to beat the way it did whenever Rafe would accidentally brush my arm. A woosh of anticipation that would make my pulse feel as though it was thrumming directly against my skin.
God, I missed that so much, I’d do pretty much anything to see it again.
Without hesitation, I took Rafe’s hand, and from the glow of my magic, a scene erupted before me. No cartoon mascots with giant cocks. Just me and Rafe as teenagers, sitting on a rock wall. Teenage Rafe watched me with hungry eyes as I bit the tip of my corn dog.
My mouth watered as an ache bloomed in my chest and spread through me. It wasn’t real. I knew it wasn’t real. But with the sun illuminating the beach, the screech of seagulls, and the rushing sound of waves rolling over the sand, it felt like it could be real.
“What do you think of that guy over there?” Teenage Rafe nodded to something that was just out of reach for the width of my illusion, but this was my memory. I already knew what he was nodding at. A guy wearing a top hat that displayed all the constellations lit up, a bow tie, and a Speedo. We got all kinds on the island during tourist season.
Teenage me looked in the direction of where the guy would be walking along the beach with contemplation. “I think he’s looking for a date for Friday night.” Teenage me hopped off the rock wall. “And I think he just found her.”
Teenage Rafe’s face broke into a wide grin that transformed him from the dark and broody bad boy who got almost as much attention from the girls at school as his brother Finn, to someone warm and beautiful who felt like a secret. A version of Rafe only I ever got to see. It made all the muscles in my stomach loosen.
He nudged my arm. “Go get him, tiger.”
Teenage me pursed her lips. “Why are you giving me the side-eye? The joke will be on you when it turns out he’s an eccentric millionaire with a big dick and a heart of gold.”
Teenage Rafe chuckled. “I’m always giving you the side-eye.”
Teenage me blew away an errant strand of strawberry blonde hair that had fallen out of her high ponytail. “I’ve noticed. Why is that?”
Teenage Rafe’s expression turned serious. “Because sometimes looking at you is like looking directly at the sun.”
“That’s enough.” Present-day Rafe dropped my hand and took a step away from me, his face pale and shaken. The light from my palms died, and with it, the memory of the two of us on the beach. A golden outline of what looked like a woman remained for just a touch longer than the rest of my vision before fading into nothingness. “What the hell kind of game are you playing?”
My heart thundered in my chest, beating so hard it shook my entire frame. The way he looked at me back then… How had I been so oblivious to it? How could my subconscious see it so clearly now? Was this just my magic’s way of torturing me? A metaphorical lamp it could hit me upside the head with?
I touched a finger to my lips, like I could still feel the soft press of his eyes-open kiss. Did I want him to be soft with me? Or did I like it more when he was a little rough? “I’m not playing games, Rafe.”
“The fuck you’re not.” He ran both his hands through his hair. “What the hell was that illusion? Why were you thinking about that?”
“Because it made me happy,” I said.
The muscle in his jaw worked overtime as he turned his gaze from me. I thought this would signal the end of practice time, but he blew out his breath, and eyed me again.
“Fuck this.” He tugged me toward him, sending me crashing against his hard chest.
This was the point where I should’ve slapped him away and asked him who was playing games now, but I couldn’t conjure a single sassy response. The full effect of his body pressed against mine was overwhelming. I trembled everywhere.
He wrapped his hands around my neck, his thumbs pressing into the base of my throat, where my traitorous pulse gave away the riot of emotions barreling through me. He squeezed ever so slightly, then lowered his lips to mine.
This kiss was nothing like the one the night before my wedding, which had been hard and punishing. Frenzied. A serious betrayal that left both of us desperate and wanting to take every bit we could before either of us came to our senses. And it wasn’t like the game of chicken we’d played earlier with our eyes open, daring the other to crack first.
This kiss was hot and angry. It was the fight we should’ve had four years ago. It was blame and longing and sorrow and guilt all wrapped into one heady wave that threatened to drag us both to hell. His lips didn’t caress mine. There was no softness to be found here. He didn’t linger or nibble, he swallowed me whole. I bit his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood and laughed into his mouth when the tang of copper hit my tongue.
He growled in response and squeezed my neck tighter, just short of cutting off my air. Collapsing on the couch, he dragged me down with him, and I straddled his lap. My slick center immediately found his hard length, big and hot and solid against me. My cotton shorts and those fucking gray sweatpants that showcased the exact outline of his massive erection were our only barrier. A new game of chicken had begun.
With every thought emptied from my head besides getting this man inside me, I ground my pussy hard against his cock, reveling in his deep-throated moan. Swallowing it down. Claiming it and making it a part of the wild and reckless need that urged me on.
I pumped my hips hard against him, the throbbing between my legs so intense, I felt the pulse of it beating in my eardrums. “Fuck me, Rafe. Fuck me hard. I need to come.”
“Jesus Christ.” He ripped his mouth away from me and slammed me down on the couch, ripping my shorts and plain white underwear off and tossing them over his shoulder.
I squirmed under his gaze. Cupping my thighs with his large hands, he spread me open and licked his lips. Blue glowed off my hands, lighting up the entire room as I reached for him. But he held up a finger to stop me.
“Let me look. Please. You’re so fucking beautiful.” The awe in his voice made tears sting the corners of my eyes. “Fuck. I’ve dreamed of you like this for years. How are you more beautiful than my wildest fantasies?”
“Rafe.” The way he was looking at me was too much. My clit was swollen and aching. I shifted my hips, trying to relieve some of the pressure. “I can’t wait any longer. I have to…”
I moved my hand, but before I could hit home, he grabbed my wrist and wrenched it over my head. “Don’t even think about it, buttercup. Not until I get a taste.”
He dipped his head and licked me straight up my center. My hips shot off the couch, and he held them down, feasting on my clit. He licked and sucked and bit at me like he’d been dying in the desert and I was a glass of water. Shamelessly, I ground myself against his face, feeling my wetness coating the stubble on his chin.
“I’m so close. More, Rafe.” The burn of his day-old beard rubbed against the inside of my legs as I squeezed them against his head. “Oh, God.” It felt so good. Almost there. “Fuck me harder. More.” He plunged his fingers into me. “Yes. Like that.”
A pounding on the door had both of us stilling. My clit pulsed, rippling and reaching for the orgasm that was right there. Rafe jumped away from me like I’d shocked him. His lips glistened with my arousal. He licked them and closed his eyes, his hands fisted at his side.
I was so turned on and utterly humiliated at the same time. Sitting up, I dragged my black tank top over my knees, covering myself as much as I could.
Objects that had been floating near the ceiling dropped to the floor without warning. A mirror shattered to bits against the hardwood. A mug with scenes from Paris that Kenna had gotten me from Capricorn’s bounced on my chair and thankfully didn’t break.
My front door didn’t disappear again, but fairy lights that had been dancing and twinkling unseen over our heads disappeared. I hated to think about what fanciful wants I’d been concocting in my head to make those appear.
“As hot as that sounded”—Donovan’s voice rang through the door—“it’s just the side effects. You’ll regret it if you let it go any further.”
Rafe wiped the front of his face with his enormous hand, and calm as could be, picked up my shorts and underwear. He glanced at me covering myself, his lip curling with a hint of disgust. As he handed off my stuff, he refused to meet my eyes. He turned away from me and went into the bathroom. The door snapped firmly shut behind him.
Looked like I’d won that round in this petty war we continued to fight.
But I couldn’t bring myself to feel any sense of victory.
