Chapter 10
10
ROMAN
J osephine swallows, her throat flexing under my hand. Her skin is warm and smooth. Her eyes flash in the darkness, a hint of spine buried under all this timidness. Who is this woman?
Her fingers wrap around my wrist, but she doesn’t pull me away. She exhales, and her lids lower dreamily. When she speaks, her voice is soft.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” A small laugh makes her chest vibrate. “I don’t understand any of this.”
The scent of herbs and woodsmoke from the shop can’t compete with the seductive combination of cloves and flowers surrounding Josephine. I lean in and inhale before I rear back. What the fuck is wrong with me?
This must be magic. Nothing else explains the draw. Yes, she’s pretty enough when she doesn’t look like she’s been on a bender for the past four days. Why is that, exactly? She looked like a goddess at the founders party. Earlier that day, when I had her trapped against the wall, she was pale and unsteady. I would have never given her a second glance if I hadn’t accidentally discovered that I could touch her.
A frown creases my brow. Or would I?
Her eyes are a rare meadow green that I didn’t think existed in real life. Her lips are full and waiting for a kiss. Another kiss I can feel. On Saturday, I could have spent hours just tasting her, brushing my mouth against hers, and reveling in how good the simple action felt. Although it’s not so simple, is it?
I don’t know what magic this is. I should run for the hills, but that would be such a waste.
I lower my head until our lips are a breath away. I don’t know if she moves first or if it’s me, but suddenly, our mouths collide in a bruising kiss. I cup her cheek with my free hand. Her fingers wrap around that wrist, too, holding me close like she’s afraid I’m going to pull away. Sensations wash over me. The plush warmth of her lips, the press of her fingers into my arm, the softness of her skin. It’s a heady combination.
“Ahem.” A loud throat clears behind me. Josephine’s head jerks back, but I’m reluctant to release her.
“I know all these dark corners are inviting, but we’re not in a Regency ballroom. No making out amongst the potions. You might change their composition.” Morty Woodroot’s amused voice lectures. “Although, considering what section you’re in, it would probably boost their potency.”
The effort it takes to step back from Josephine is monumental. Her shoulders hunch, and she wraps her arms around her middle. Almost as if my touch was fortifying her in some way. She looks physically smaller, like she’s shrunk in on herself. I frown at the change. A glance over my shoulder confirms that Mortimer Woodroot is the cock blocker. He’s standing in the most ridiculous suit I’ve ever seen with his arms crossed and a smug look on his face.
“Roman Blackthorn, why I never.” The jackass pretends to cool himself with an imaginary fan. I've known Morty for fifteen years at least. He’s owned this store for as long as I can remember. Unlike many other people in this town, he’s only judgmental when you deserve it. He doesn’t give a shit what side of the river you live on. As long as you cough up the money, he’ll sell his goods to anyone. He’s an equal opportunity asshole.
“Josephine, my darling, I have all of your ingredients ready.”
Josephine slips past me, doing her best to avoid touching me anywhere, like that might trigger us to fall back into each other’s arms. Hell, maybe it will. I’m barely staving off the urge to grab her around the hips and pull her flush to my body. Fuck Morty. He can watch for all I care.
Morty is dangling a brown paper bag from his fingertips. Josephine grabs hold of it from the bottom, without making eye contact. There’s an odd look on Morty’s face when she takes the bag from him. I notice she goes out of her way not to touch him.
“I have something else for you, my dear.” Morty picks a book off the table next to him and holds it out for her.
“Oh, I didn’t bring any cash. I don’t think my mother would approve of this going on her bill.”
Morty clucks his tongue. “This one’s on me, baby girl. I think it would be beneficial for you to read up on some potion-making.”
Josephine’s eyes dart up to look at Morty before they shift to me. Her cheeks flush, and she looks away. “Okay. I will. Thank you.”
“What do you want, my little flower?” Morty turns to me, and Josephine seizes the opportunity to pluck the book from his hand and make her escape. I brush past the shopkeeper with a roll of my eyes, and catch up with the skittish witch just before she opens the door.
I slap a hand on the wood, caging her once more. This seems to be our preferred position. Her head whips around and she glares at me with the fire I just know she keeps buried down deep. I like seeing it come to the surface. That I’m the one who draws that reaction from her.
With my free hand, I pull a business card out of my suit pocket.
“Morty, I need a pen.” I barely have the request out before Morty is slapping a pen in my hand as though he anticipated it.
“Yes sir,” he sings, but I ignore him. Using the door as my table, I scrawl my cell number on the back of the card, not giving up an inch of space for Josephine.
I hold the card out for her. “This is my personal number.” I search her face for any inkling of her thoughts. The fire in her eyes has dimmed, and her brows are pulled down in confusion. “Call, text, anything. I…” My words trail off. I don’t know what else to say. What am I asking her to do? Call to set up a date. To have a chat like two teenage girls talking about their crushes.
Josephine slowly takes the card from me like it’s a snake and not a piece of paper. She folds her hand against her chest, pressing the card to her heart while her eyes never leave my face. There’s confusion and a whole lot of unasked questions aimed my way. I take a step back, feeling uncertain. I don’t like it.
Josephine slowly opens the door. She slips out like she’s afraid I’m going to change my mind and haul her back in here. The temptation to do that is strong, but I take another step back, proving to myself that my will is sturdier than whatever spell she’s cast on me.
Morty lets out a low whistle as soon as the door closes. “That was entertaining.”
I ignore him, unable to let Josephine out of my sight until she disappears under the cover of night.
“What kind of spell was she getting ingredients for?” I turn back toward the sequined clad man who is cleaning rows of potions with a feather duster.
“For shame, Roman my love. I don’t spill other people’s dirty details.”
“Sure, you do. All the time.” I cross my arms, resting my back against the door, and wait.
Morty sighs, lowering his duster and crossing his own arms. His suit glitters in the golden glow of the store with each move he makes. How can I even take him seriously?
“She wasn’t buying ingredients for herself. I’ll tell you that much.” Morty’s gaze drifts to the window, in the direction Josephine just headed. “That girl deserves a lot better.”
I don’t know if he’s referring to me or something else in Josephine’s life. Maybe both.
I came in here to pick up ingredients for Bram’s numbing potion. It helps keep his darkness at bay, but he hates thinking, talking, or generally acknowledging anything to do with his curse. He foolishly considers it a weakness on his part. Here I am, trying to be a good brother, and I get slapped with life lessons instead.
Fucking great.