Chapter Fifteen-Bella
The walk home was long, and my skin was still tingling—not the fun, post-bonfire glow kind of tingle, but the itchy, restless kind that made me feel like I’d just swallowed an entire espresso shot of magic.
Every nerve felt raw and alive.
I told myself it was from the ritual.
I told myself it wasn’t from him.
I was a damned liar.
The pine barrens stretched out around me, moonlight slicing through the trees in silver ribbons.
The air was cool enough to raise goosebumps on my bare arms, but I didn’t slow down.
Couldn’t stay stuck out here all night.
My soul felt heavy.
My body ached in that bone-deep way that came from holding too much inside.
I knew exactly what was wrong with me.
I missed Conrad, I just didn’t want to admit it.
“You always walk home alone, Sugar?”
The voice slid in from my right—low, husky, threaded with something that made my stomach drop to my knees.
I yelped and almost tripped over a knotted tree root.
My robe fluttered open a dangerous inch before I caught myself, heat flooding my cheeks.
Where the hell had he come from?
One second, I was alone with my thoughts. The next, Conrad was there—close enough that the heat from his body brushed against my skin in waves.
My heart tried to beat its way out of my chest.
I knew he and his friends were staying in the little cottage behind my bakery and that I’d pass it on my way home. That was, the guys had all lived there before Ryan moved in with Donny and Jaxson with Evie.
Now it was just him, but he might as well have been a ghost.
Bakery hours didn’t leave much room for casual drop-ins, and Conrad didn’t strike me as a man who did anything casually.
I hadn’t seen him for days, now twice today, and I didn’t know what to think.
The rental was only a few rows down from my own two-story Colonial, which was why I decided to come home from the other direction.
So I didn’t have to pass him.
Fat lot of good that did.
Poof! There he was again, materializing out of the dark like he’d been part of the forest all along.
I didn’t see his motorcycle. No truck. Not Deputy’s car, either. Which was unnerving because I knew he drove all three.
I baked cookies for the man who handled all of Castor’s Corners mechanical needs.
Anyway, how had Conrad gotten here without his vehicles? And why?
“Yep. Walking it is,” I said, aiming for casual but sounding slightly breathless. “I didn’t drive myself tonight.”
He knew that, of course.
But he just made a low sound in his throat, one of those noncommittal man-noises that somehow carried more weight than an entire sentence.
He kept pace with me for a few more steps before his hand—warm, strong—closed around my elbow.
“Can I see you to your door, Bella?”
The way he said my name? Like it was a promise and a curse all at once. Well, it did things to me.
I pretended to think it over, though the truth was obvious.
Who wouldn’t want a six-foot-plus wall of Shifter muscle walking them through town in the middle of the night?
Especially when said Witch was wearing nothing but a robe and a stubborn streak.
“Fine,” I said, trying to sound like I was doing him a favor. “But it’s just a walk, Conrad. Don’t read anything into it.”
His smirk was slow and dangerous, curling at one corner of his mouth.
“Anything you say, Sugar. But just so you know,” he leaned in close enough that his breath brushed my ear. “I’m up for anything with you, anytime. Day or night.”
Panty. Melting. Statement.
Ugh.
The walk to my front door was far too short for my liking—because of course, now that I’d decided to let him walk me, I wasn’t ready for him to leave.
I turned to face him and nearly swallowed my own tongue.
He was barefoot, wearing only a pair of black sweats, his skin still glistening faintly from a shift.
The moonlight slid over his chest, lighting up the ridges and valleys of muscle in a way that should’ve been illegal.
His hair—those ridiculous blond waves—looked like he’d run his hands through them right before walking out to find me.
I inhaled, and warm breezes mixed with the sharp green scent of the grass and that deep, heady musk that was all Conrad.
“Um, thanks for this,” I murmured, wishing I had any excuse to keep him standing there.
Unless.
“Hey, are you hungry?”
The corner of his mouth tipped up again, but his eyes—Goddess, his eyes—were all heat and singular focus.
“Hungry? Me? Always, Sugar.”
The words were harmless enough.
The way he said them was absolutely, one hundred percent not.
“Good. I had Petyr bring home some lemon bars from the bakery earlier today.” I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, trying not to fidget. “I’m, uh, trying out a new recipe.”
“Oh?” His voice dipped even lower, like he already knew he had me where he wanted me. “Lemon’s my favorite.”
“Is it?” I tilted my head, pretending it was news to me.
But I’d known.
Of course I’d known.
I paid attention when it came to him, no matter how hard I tried not to.
“So, would you like to come in and try a couple? Let me know if they’re up to par?”
There.
The invitation was out there, hanging in the night air between us. The rest was up to him.
If he said no, I’d survive. Probably.
If he said yes, well, my robe wasn’t the only thing about to come undone.
“Oh, I don’t know. You said this was just a walk, Maribella. I wouldn’t want you to think I was being pushy or anything.”
His tone was all mock innocence, but those raised brows and that smirk told another story entirely.
“Fine,” I growled, throwing my door open with more force than necessary.
My robe swished around my thighs, and I stomped—yes, stomped—up the walkway.
Not gracefully.
Not with any kind of sultry sway.
Just solid, irritated footfalls that said if you don’t want my goodies, then you don’t get my goodies.
I didn’t make it halfway to the porch before he was suddenly there.
“I didn’t say no, Bella,” Conrad murmured, right in front of me.
Goddess, help me, he moved like water—smooth, inevitable, and impossible to stop.
I’d been around Shifters before, but there was something about the way he covered ground that felt more like sorcery than speed.
One second, he was yards away, the next he was filling my vision, his firm, warm hand closing around my elbow.
My magic reacted before I could stop it—pink sparks skittering under my skin, heat curling low in my belly.
“Up to you,” I mumbled, unwilling to meet his gaze because I knew if I did, I’d drown in those emerald eyes.
I slipped free of his touch and led the way up the cobblestone path. My deep burgundy door stood out against the beige siding like a bold lipstick choice on bare skin.
Inside, the space reflected my moods.
A buttery yellow kitchen with a monster eight-burner stove and four ovens.
Cozy natural wood cabinets with frosted glass doors.
A living room designed with calming blues and grays.
And finally, my bedroom, which was done in all soft mauves and cream.
Comfortable. Safe. Mine.
A flick of my fingers and a shimmer of pink-white magic unlocked the door, my wards whispering their approval.
The Draco Fortis security system—a blend of cutting-edge technology and old-world spellcraft designed by a Dragon Shifter who lived not too far from Castor’s Corner in Maccon City—hummed quietly in the background.
The place smelled faintly of lemon sugar and home.
“Smells great in here, Sugar,” Conrad said, stepping in close enough to brush a kiss over my cheek.
It wasn’t a hungry kiss—not yet—but my skin still flared hot at the contact.
“Follow me,” I managed, keeping my voice neutral, even as my heart was trying to beat a hole in my ribs.
In the kitchen, I busied myself plating a couple of lemon bars, pretending I couldn’t feel his eyes on me. “Tea?”
“That would be great, Maribella,” he said, voice husky enough to slide right under my robe.
The kettle went on.
The scent of fresh-cut lemon and warm sugar filled the space between us.
He smelled of pine needles, damp earth, and something sharper—clean, wild air that made me think of the pine barrens where I’d just been.
Had he been there, watching?
It was a Shifter thing—staying close to their mates.
Except Conrad wasn’t my mate.
I had to keep telling myself that.
He bit into the lemon bar, and the deep, masculine sound he made in his throat nearly buckled my knees.
“These are fantastic,” he said around the second bite. “Did I already tell you lemon’s my favorite? Good Goddess, woman, I could eat the whole tray.”
“I know. I mean about lemon being your favorite,” I admitted before I could stop myself.
His grin was slow and wicked, like he knew exactly how much attention I paid to him.
And maybe he was right.
I watched as a smear of lemon filling clung to his pinky.
He caught me looking, and instead of grabbing a napkin like a normal person, he brought his hand to his mouth.
And licked.
The tip of his tongue swirled, slow and deliberate, before he drew it into his mouth and sucked the last trace away.
My mouth went dry.
Because I knew that tongue.
Knew what it could do.
Knew what it felt like when he shifted that part of him, forking that long, muscled appendage and tasting me with it.
Heat coiled low and tight between my legs, my robe suddenly feeling like the thinnest, most dangerous thing I owned.
My nipples peaked against the silk, my breathing quickening.
Conrad’s gaze darkened, the green deepening to a molten emerald.
“You’ve got something on your lip, Sugar.”
Before I could swipe at it, he was there—closing the space, his thumb brushing my mouth.
Not a quick wipe, but a slow, lingering drag that had my lips parting on instinct.
His hand was warm, rough in all the right ways, and my body leaned toward his without my permission.
“You want me to get the rest?” he asked softly.
I should have said no.
Should have laughed it off.
Instead, I whispered, “Yes.”
And his mouth was on mine—soft at first, teasing, like he was testing how far I’d let him go.
Then deeper, hungrier, the taste of lemon and sugar mixing with the heady, male taste of him.
My hands found his bare chest, the heat of his skin scorching my palms.
When his tongue brushed mine—just the faintest flicker of that forked edge—I moaned into his mouth.
It had been weeks since we’d touched, and my body remembered every single detail.
Every thrust, every shiver, every pulse of magic that sparked between us.
The kettle whistled shrilly behind me, but neither of us moved.
Because tea could wait.
But Conrad?
Conrad wasn’t the kind of man you made wait when he kissed you like this.
And the truth was, I didn’t want to wait either.