In his dream Storm was so close to orgasm that he had taken a breath to yell out. Then he woke.
Both erection and dream dissipated almost instantly leaving him waking face down with his draw string pants around his knees and a draft of chilled morning air cooling his bare backside. He groaned, pulled a pillow under his face and muttered curses into the down. He stayed like that until he had to choose between moving his face away from the pillow or not breathing again.
After another moment's hesitation, he turned over on his back feeling empty, unsatisfied, disturbed, and inexplicably angry at Litha for reasons that were unclear even to him.
He couldn't deny that there was a part of him being held hostage by the green-eyed witch with her red, red lips and her, oh so feminine and romantic nightgown; just the kind of thing a fantasy was supposed to wear in a dream. But the other part of him was repulsed by the idea of being teased and manipulated by magicks. And what other explanation could there be for such an occurrence?
***
CHAPTER 10
After breakfast the next morning, Storm waited on the mezzanine catwalk so that he could catch Litha and talk to her before going into the War Room. When she came into sight, she saw that his gaze was fixed on her so she headed straight for him. His expression bore down on her like a thing with physical weight.
He didn't waste any time on salutations or other pleasantries, but spoke to her in a demanding tone like a man who was used to having his way. "I'd like to know your philosophy on witchcraft."
A telltale look of injury flickered across her face before she gathered her protections around her and laughed. "Well! Not exactly the way I had imagined this conversation might begin. Would you like that in ten words or less?"
"This is not a joke. Do you use witchcraft to manipulate?"
Litha was instantly serious, narrowing her eyes as her expression became guarded. "Are you accusing me of something, Mr. Storm?"
"That's Sir Storm. And answer the question," he demanded as his eyes moved downward of their own volition and locked on the pendant that fell between her br**sts.
"That doesn't sound like a respectful request..." With effort he jerked his eyes back up to her face. "I will answer you for reasons that escape me at the moment, but I want you to know that I resent the implication. No. I do not use Craft to manipulate humans in any way, for any reason. Never have. Never will. Witches' honor."
Storm barked out a sarcastic laugh that was both rude and startling. "That's very funny. Witches have no honor."
"Really?" she asked. "I hope that's not true, but in my opinion, a man who would say such an ugly thing for no reason other than to hurt someone else isn't qualified to judge who does and does not have honor. In my opinion, such a person shouldn't be knighted, Mr. Storm." And with that she turned and walked away, leaving him standing there alone and wanting to argue some more.
Certainly that was a first. No one had ever accused Storm of being short on honor before. And questioning the worthiness of his knighthood was beyond outrageous. He was furious for a few seconds until he heard his own voice saying that maybe no one had ever questioned his knighthood because he'd never behaved like a lunatic before. What he had said was uncalled for. That led him to the next logical question which was, why did he do it?
And the inescapable answer was because he had wanted to hurt her. Again. Deep and wide.
Sure as he was that he was losing it, he couldn't stop himself from pursuing her. He took three long strides and caught her arm.
"Tell me the truth, witch. Did you use a dream spell on me?"
Litha slowly turned, pulled her arm out of his grasp, and studied him a minute before answering. "Like I already told you..." Her gaze bore right through him saying, 'listen up because this part is important'. "...the magick was yours. Maybe you have some latent aptitude that's surfacing in reaction to being around me. That's all the truth I have for you.
"I will say this though." She stepped back far enough to let her eyes drift all the way down his body and back again. Slowly. "If I was casting a dream spell, it wouldn't be over nearly so fast and it certainly wouldn't leave us both so... unsatisfied." She drew the last word out until there was absolutely no mistaking her meaning.
He wanted to tell himself he was shocked, but he wasn't that good a liar. It had been real. At least in the sense that their psyches had shared an extra-body experience. Of course it wasn't as real as intimacy with actual bodies, but it was a whole hell of a lot more than fantasizing. And he was the one who had originated the encounter? Was that even possible or was she just f**king with him? Well, yes, she was f**king with him. Wait. Had she just accused him of being a rookie witch and a ham handed lover who pulled the trigger prematurely?
"By the way," she continued, wrenching his attention back from his own reverie, "if you try it again you may not find me so cooperative. If I respond at all, it won't be so quickly. Or so sweetly." She punctuated that with a smile that was sweeter than sugar. He wanted to grab her with both hands and kiss that provocative, taunting smile off her face and replace it with an expression of desire - for him - like the one he had seen just before he woke up.
And wanting that so much made him even angrier. And more confused.
Storm didn't know if that was a threat, but at the least, proclaiming that she would not be quick, cooperative, or sweet sounded like a promise of retaliation. He stared dumbly while she turned and walked away...again... taking with her his gaze firmly riveted on the graceful roll her hips gave that pretty, dark print skirt. The fact that she was so calm, so unruffled and so in command somehow cranked his agitation higher which was a feat because, at the moment, he was pretty damn agitated.
He stood in the hallway not knowing what to do next. That had to be another first. He was wondering if that was what people mean by indecision. Uncertainty didn't sit well with him. He was very decided about the fact that he didn't like how indecision felt. At all.
When he arrived at the War Room a few minutes later, Litha was stirring coffee and chatting with Elora about what colors were best for nurseries. She studiously avoided acknowledging his presence for the rest of the day. Not so much as a glance. He knew because he rarely took his eyes away from her.
Litha was undeniably distracted, her attention divided between the meeting and the exchange she'd just had with Storm. She alternately scolded and berated herself for having gone and fallen for a tall, outrageously handsome knight without knowing anything about him. Other than that he was tall, outrageously handsome, and surrounded by a magnetic field that almost pulled her off her feet when in his presence. What she hadn't known about him were the little things like, for instance, that he was rude with a nasty mean streak, and, worse, clearly prejudiced toward witches.
Not to mention that he was way out of touch with his own feelings. Fine, then. Let him just sit and stew in his own poisoned pile of denial. Alone! Let him stay there until he figured out that he was on the wrong side of his own argument. She had never seen a man more in need of being put in time out.
It would be hard to imagine how she could have picked a guy who was more aggravating or less self-aware. Not to mention the fact that he had been the catalyst that had caused her emotions to spike so far out of control with jealousy that she'd morphed into a firestarter for craps' sake.