Page 37

Chapter Thirty-Seven

W hit’s pulse jumped as if he’d just heard the shot at the beginning of a race. Clover stood over him—her knees on either side of his, their fingers laced palm-to-palm. Her eyes were closed with her head hung forward, her hair tickling his face.

“Repeat after me,” she said in a hushed voice.

But he hardly heard her words, so enthralled was he by her proximity.

“ Willow, rowan, elder, and ash ,” she murmured.

He felt the soft flicker of her magic spark, beckoning his toward her—inviting him in. “ Willow, rowan, elder, and ash, ” he repeated, taking a deep breath to lend her his power.

Her scent, like a hidden wildflower meadow, teased him. He leaned toward it.

“ Summer winds blow and waters lash, ” she said.

He said the same. His face warmed as if he were under the sun on the brightest of summer days. He wondered if it was her magic working or if it was his reaction to her.

“ Primal forces of sun and sea. ”

As he repeated her spell, his knuckles began to itch.

“ Bless and heal him, we ask of thee. ”

Once he said the last line, Clover’s eyes flicked open and stared into his.

She started the spell again, slowly this time so he could say it with her.

Their whispered syllables mingled together, harmonizing into something almost physical.

Clover’s eyes were bright and clear—urging, willing the magic she wielded to do her bidding.

With every word, the dull pain in his face seemed to subside.

Suddenly, her eyes started to dim and lose focus. She pushed through to the end of the spell—her words forced as if squeezed out of her.

She wobbled a bit and swayed backward. Whit tightened his grip on her hands so she wouldn’t fall. Her knees buckled, and she plopped onto his lap.

“Hey,” he said urgently, leaning his head back to try to get a better look at her face. “Are you all right?”

Clover nodded slowly. “Yeah, maybe I’m just not used to channeling winter power into summer magic.”

Whit frowned. “Or maybe you used up all of your own and didn’t take enough from me.”

A smile tugged at one corner of her mouth. “Well, you might need it. What if you get into another fight?”

Whit scowled but didn’t respond.

Releasing his hands, Clover reached for his face—her sleepy eyes analyzing the work she’d done.

The brush of her fingers was gentle and sent a tingle through him.

Clover leaned toward him and pressed her lips to where her brother had so recently punched him in the eye. A hot shiver went right to his manhood.

“There,” she whispered. “All better.”

Her heat on his lap, her scent in his nose, and the tender light in her eyes—Whit froze as desire mounted inside him.

He couldn’t afford to mess this up. If he was reading the situation wrong, he could ruin everything. He was the one who’d drawn the platonic line. He couldn’t rightly promise one thing before he married her and then go back on his word immediately after.

But, gods, did he want her. He wanted her like a starving man wanted food, like a stranded sailor wanted fresh water—like a man who hadn’t known the feel of a woman in too many years.

He trembled against his compulsion to press her to him—to make her truly belong to him. He wanted her so much that it honestly scared him. Was his blood still hot from the fight? If her magic hadn’t been low since the day he’d met her, he might have thought she’d bewitched him—love magic was summer magic after all.

“Whit?” she whispered.

His name on her tongue nearly broke him.

“You’re shaking. Are you?—?”

But as she pressed her hand to his abdomen to push herself back in order to look at his face, he hissed in pain. She snatched her hand away from him.

“What? What happened?”

He winced.

Leaning back, she carefully lifted his shirt, gasping when she saw the bruises that would no doubt be even worse later.

“I’m sorry,” she fretted. “I didn’t know. I can’t believe they’re this bad. That’s got to hurt. Give me a moment, I’ll heal?—”

Whit put his hand atop hers, which still held his shirt up. The action cut off her words.

“I’m fine,” he insisted. “You’re exhausted enough as it is. You need to replenish your magic, and that could take a while.”

“But…”

Whit shook his head, then gave her a gentle smile. “I’ll live. It would have been much worse if you hadn’t healed me already.” He squeezed her hand. “Thank you.”

Clover frowned but nodded. Standing from his lap, she slowly pulled away from him. “I’ll go get you some ice.”

As she made her way to the kitchen, Whit stayed in the dining room chair—mourning the absence of her weight on his knees.

Whit wrestled to leash his own desire. He knew that if she’d been near him for even a moment longer—if his abdomen hadn’t been bruised and her touch had been hot and firm—he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself.

He clenched his jaw and tightened his hands into fists. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so out of control, and he didn’t like it.

How many women had he turned down? How many times had he stopped his primal urges from taking control of his mind? He was a winter sorcerer. He was nothing without logic and reason and considering the consequences of his actions.

Whit’s gaze fixed on Clover as she returned from the kitchen, an apologetic smile on her face. She held a bag of frozen peas out to him. “We didn’t have any ice. Put this on for twenty minutes over your shirt, then put them back in the freezer.”

What makes her so different? Whit wondered, accepting the peas as a shock of cold ran up his arm.