to his best friend Lucian’s nickname for him, Brother. It implied a monkish lifestyle, and CJ could not deny it.
Though he did desire. And since returning from Daemonia, his aspirations and life outlook had changed. He wanted—no, craved—closeness with a woman. And standing not ten feet from Vika, having watched her smile and chatter about the spells she and her sister were practicing over supper, and now feeling her wonder as she inspected the chandeliers, he felt the desire rise and the need to explore the tender and wanting emotions he’d ignored over the years.
“No broom, and I insist you stop trying to clean the place. Let’s have an after-dinner drink.”
He poured a small narrow glass of the crème de violette for her. It smelled of violets, but he preferred the spicy chartreuse, which he poured for himself. They clinked glasses, and Vika sipped hers, while he swallowed his measure in one tilt.
“Isn’t chartreuse made by monks?” she wondered. “And so many herbs in it. I think the taste would get lost.”
Pouring another draft, he offered her his glass. “Smell.” She leaned in, closing her eyes, and drew in the aroma. It took all his control not to reach for her porcelain cheek and brush a finger along it. Not yet. “Each time, you smell something different, taste the tarragon, and then the anise, or even the mountain lavender.”
“I’ll stick with my sweet liqueur,” she said, curling her wrist toward her as she sipped the violet concoction. “I like things sweet. Now, you are a little bit sweet yourself.”
“Me? Sweet?”
“You’ve a decidedly cedar scent that rises above a mix of many other herbs. I like it.”
“Must be from the herbs I use for spellcraft. I don’t pay much attention.”
“It must be difficult for you, if you’re such a powerful witch, to have that power depleted by the demons.”
“It is, but they cannot deplete the greatest of my powers.”
“Which is?”
“Well, it’s been said a witch’s greatest power is not theirs to wield. Rather, it exists in the minds of others.”
“Oh, yes. What someone believes you are capable of may be the power that holds them back, whether or not you possess such power. It is the power of the mind.”
“Belief,” Certainly chimed.
“I agree with that.” She smiled freely, tipping her glass to his in a bright ting.
Paused in the center of the kitchen looking about—for more cleaning work, he presumed—Vika set her glass aside as he reached her. He moved in for a kiss. It was quick and a little off her mouth. A hint of violet liqueur hushed out at her startled gasp. He’d screwed it up, and he pulled back with a wince.
Mouth open, she gave him a stunned once-over. “What was that?”
“It was an awful, botched attempt. A horrible kiss, as far as kisses go. Sorry.”
“Never apologize for a kiss.” She clutched the front of his shirt, pulling him down to her mouth, and kissed him.
More intrigued than startled—although he was still kicking himself for such awkward first contact—Certainly stepped in closer and slipped an arm around behind her slender back. All he’d needed was a test kiss and an acceptance from her. He relaxed now, and Vika’s mouth melded against his. Of course, he should expect nothing less than perfect from her. Perfect looks, perfect life, perfect kiss. And suddenly he wanted to mar that perfection, to imprint it with his own rough and messy darkness.
Hand gliding up against the back of her head, his fingers diving into the soft garnet braid, he deepened the violet and chartreuse kiss, clutching her tighter and teasing her to answer his force if she dared. She didn’t balk. The witch wrapped her sorcery about his intentions and pulled tight, taming his sudden wildness until he moaned into her mouth. Her hair, silken and slick under his exploring fingers, pulled free from the updo and tumbled over his face and neck. It spilled endless streams over him, ensnaring, capturing, tying him up in her delicious net.
The body melded against his was long and lithe, soft and hard, hungry and undulating, pressing against him, daring him, meeting his challenge. He grew hard. He pulled her hips forward, crushing her against his aching want. It had been too long. Until he’d gone to Daemonia, he’d not had a relationship with a woman that lasted longer than a night. He’d never felt the desire to make a lasting connection.
Everything had changed. He wanted—no needed—someone. All his life he’d fended on his own. Family was