Page 72 of Love Spells: And Other Non-Refundable Magic

I smile. “Merry.”

“Right. Sorry.” She closes her eyes slowly, then groans. “I just⁠—”

I close the last few inches between us, and her words disappear.

The first touch of her mouth is so soft that for the strangest second, all I can think is that this is Merryweather not talking.

Then she recovers, and I feel the change.

Her hand finds my waist carefully, settling there like she’s still waiting for permission, and I lift mine to her face. My fingertips catch in the loose hair beside her cheek before my palm settles against the warmth of her skin.

She makes the smallest, faintest sound against my mouth. And something in me gives.

I kiss her harder. Not rushed or messy. Just enough that Merry’s fingers tighten against my waist, and she steps into me, closing the last bit of space between our bodies.

Her mouth is warm and soft, and tastes of cinnamon and cherry lipstick. I have the ridiculous thought that maybe it was the candy corn before I lose the ability to think about candy corn or pumpkins or anything else that exists beyond this patio.

I tilt my head and kiss her again, slower this time, feeling the shape of her smile before it disappears beneath my mouth.

Merry’s other hand comes up to my arm, fingertips brushing over my skin before curling lightly around my elbow. There is something almost cautious about the way she touches me that doesn’t match the way she kisses me at all.

Because Merry kisses like she talks. Once she starts, apparently, she has a lot to say.

The thought makes me smile against her mouth.

“Are you laughing at me again?”

Her lips brush mine when she says it.

“No.”

“You are.”

“I’m really not.”

“Your mouth is—” She stops, realizing that explaining what my mouth is doing requires her to look directly at it. Her eyes drop, and I feel her breath hitch against my lips. “Hi,” she whispers.

And I don’t know why that nearly undoes me.

Maybe because it’s so stupidly Merry. Because she has just kissed me within an inch of my life, and somehow she still looks a little amazed to find herself here.

“Hi.”

Her smile starts slowly, and I’m enthralled. Absolutely enthralled by this woman who⁠—

“Again” she says, interrupting my thoughts so abruptly, I’m forced to be the one who kisses her.

My hand lifts from her cheek into her hair, and Merry comes toward me immediately, like she was waiting for exactly that. The kiss is deeper now that neither of us has to wonder whether the other wants it, all the carefulness of the first one giving way to something warmer and hungrier.

Merry’s hand slides around my waist, and I feel the soft press of her body against mine.

Dios.

I like kissing her.

I like the little breath she takes through her nose when I pull her closer. I like the way she rises slightly onto her toes when my fingers move into her hair, even though she’s probably a few inches taller than me. I like that she seems incapable of doing anything halfway, including this.

Mostly, I like that I am not thinking about whether I should.