Chapter Six

“I,” Sebastian Bane told Fenady, “have a proposition.”

Fen looked at him a bit foggily. They’d been discussing the problem of their dueling ice cream parlors for what felt like hours, without any real solution. He wasn’t what she’d call stubborn, but he was as determined as she. He was not at all ready to give up the business for which he’d worked. Or to admit he’d cheated, either overtly or through the use of magic.

Now her head felt woozy and her libido was definitely stirred, so much that she asked herself what sort of proposition he had in mind, and whether she’d agree.

She narrowed her gaze on the wine bottle. Empty, darn it. Maybe she was just tipsy. That shouldn’t happen on just half a bottle of wine, but she’d had very little to eat today, being too stuck into her work to take the time.

Yeah, maybe she was tipsy, or maybe he’d cast a spell on her. Enchantment definitely lay in his dark eyes. Enchantment and temptation so deep and seductive it left her breathless.

She leaned toward him on the sofa and parted her lips. “What do you propose?”

That eyebrow of his went into riot, jumping up and down, which Fen assumed indicated surprise.

Or interest.

“Well, now,” he murmured in that sexy accent. “What do you propose?”

“It’s your game. You’re the one who arranged this—this conversation. You’re up.”

“I most certainly am.” He inspected her face with attention so hot, she almost felt her skin blister. “I have to admit, Miss Fenady, you make me forget every intention but one.”

He leaned forward. So did she. Fen couldn’t decide later which of them actually initiated the kiss. It had been inevitable since she took her first sip of wine. No, since they’d walked into the room. Maybe since the first she laid eyes on him.

His lips felt warm and tasted of the clove wine. They molded to hers, at first tentatively—and then with an intensity that had her senses reeling. What was this? Oh, goddess help her, what was this?

Finding herself standing on the brink of an abyss, and terrified by the depth of the drop in front of her, Fen tried to withdraw. But by then he’d curled his fingers around her cheek in a gesture so tender, it drained her remaining willpower.

So instead of retreating, she parted her lips for him. Fool, her mind screamed at her. But her body and her spirit screamed more loudly still, combining to make a chorus that insisted, Yes. Mine.

She might have expected a guy like Sebastian Bane—one with the devil in his eyes—to dominate, to overwhelm her with his male energy. He didn’t. Instead, his tongue wooed, asking a question of hers which, acting completely on its own, answered it by starting a dance as primitive as the oldest of her beliefs. Sebastian Bane met her reaction with a rush of passion so hot it seared her senses, but he met her as an equal.

As a consequence, her barriers—what remained of them—went down with a deafening crash. She lifted her hands to his chest, seeking the heat and feel of him. Abandoning her cheek, he buried his hands in her hair, and deepened the kiss.

Any deeper, and he’ll own me. I can’t let that happen. I absolutely can’t—

Fen’s questing fingers found the hem of his shirt and foraged up under. Warm skin over lean, hard muscle and a tracing of hair that made her fingertips tingle.

He sighed, the sound breathing from his mouth into hers. Fen had a sudden, vivid image of her surrendering to the heat of it, shedding her clothes like a woman entering ritual, and sliding beneath him. So vivid was it, he gasped.

He gasped.

Goddess, could he really see inside her mind? Oh, it was deep magic…

He broke the kiss and they gazed into each other’s eyes.

“I want you,” Fen groaned.

Oh, by all that was sacred, had she said that aloud?

His smile started in his eyes, where the deviltry lay so deep, and spread to his whole face, charm incarnate. “I want you as well, Fenady Clark.” He stroked his fingers through her hair. “And it will happen, I promise you that.”

“It can’t. You think things are complicated now—”

“I’ll have you naked beneath me, or on top of me.” Laughter spilled from his eyes. “However you want it. But probably not tonight.”

“No.” She shoved him away, and he went without protest. “I’ve been drinking. I’m probably not in my right mind.”

The eyebrow went into action. “You think that was the wine?”

“No. Quite possibly, you enchanted me.”

“Or you enchanted me.”

When witch met witch in passion, Fen acknowledged, it was impossible to tell. “Looks like we’re back to square one.”

He dragged his fingers through his black hair, which made it stand up delightfully. “You never let me tell you my—er—proposition.”

Fen backed off a few inches. “Go ahead.” She hoped she could concentrate. The image of the two of them together, locked in glorious flagrante, still possessed her mind. She’d never be able to look at him again without feeling his lips on hers.

Basically, she was doomed.

“We need to get this thing settled if we’re to coexist in Rockpool this summer. And for that to happen, I need to prove to you it’s the Universe at work here and I haven’t been pilfering your ideas.”

“That makes sense.” As much as anything did.

“Right. So I propose we both write down an idea for a flavor—one we make up here, on the spot. We’ll fold them up and give them to someone we trust, to hold. Then, we go develop those flavors and see what comes of it.”

Fen shook her head in an effort to clear away the images. “Whom do we both trust?”

“Good question. Whom do we both know?”

“And it’s late—even if we can decide on someone, we won’t be able to give the papers to her or him tonight.”

“Agreed.” He snapped his fingers. “Better idea. I’ll go home, you stay here, and we’ll write down the new flavors separately. Then we’ll meet tomorrow morning at the Rockport branch of Greenfield Bank and lock them in a safety deposit box.”

“To which we’ll both have keys. What’s to keep you from going back in there and peeking?”

“Or you. Okay, we won’t take the keys. We’ll get the bank manager to hold them.”

“Deal.” Fen stuck out her hand. “Let’s shake on it.”

“Fine, then.” His fingers enfolded hers firmly, starting another tingle. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning at the bank. Nine o’clock, when they open?”

“Sure.” If she could survive that long without him.