"I don't want to ruin what we have," Marshal said, his voice soft in the absolute stillness of a winter's afternoon. He slowly slid closer, and I set the book on my lap on the floor to lean up against his side, testing the feeling though I was stiff and uncertain, trying it on. It felt like it fit, which worried me. "Maybe friends is enough," he added, as if really considering it. "I've never had as good a relationship with a woman as I've got with you, and I'm just smart enough, and old enough, and tired enough to let it ride as it is."
"Me, too," I said, almost disappointed. I shouldn't be resting against him, leading him on. I was a danger to everyone I liked, but the Weres had backed off, and the vamps. I'd get Al to see reason. I didn't want Jenks to be right about me chasing the unattainable as an excuse to be alone. I had a great relationship with Marshal right now. Just because it wasn't physical didn't make it any less real. Or did it? I wanted to care about someone. I wanted to love someone, and I didn't want to be afraid to. I didn't want to let Mia win.
"Marshal, I still don't know if I'm ready for a boyfriend." Reaching out, I touched the short hair behind his ear, heart pounding. I'd spent so much effort trying to convince myself that he was off limits, that just that small motion seemed erotic. He didn't move, and my hand drifted down until my fingers brushed his collar, a whisper from touching his skin. A small spot of feeling grew, and I drew my gaze back to his. "But I'd like to see if I am. If you do…"
His hand came up to pin mine against his shoulder, not binding but promising more. His free hand dropped lower, suggestively crossing the invisible boundary of my defenses and retreating to give me his answer. That we'd spent the last two months keeping our distance made that simple move surprisingly intense.
Marshal reached to tilt my head up to his, and I let my head move easily in his grip, turning to face him. His fingers were warm on my jawline as he searched my gaze, weighing my words against his own worries. I shivered in the chill. "You sure?" he said. "I mean, we can't go back."
He had already seen the crap of my life, and he hadn't left. Did it matter if this didn't last forever if it gave me peace right now? "No, I'm not sure," I whispered, "but if we wait until we are, neither of us will find anyone."
That seemed to give him a measure of assurance, and I closed my eyes as he gently turned my face to his and tentatively kissed me, tasting of sugar and doughnuts. Feeling raced through me, heat from wanting something I said I never would pursue. His hand pulled me closer, and the slip of a tongue sent a dart of desire to my middle. Oh God, it felt good, and my mind raced as fast as my heart.
I didn't want this to be a mistake. I'd been with him for two months and proved neither of us was here for the physical stuff. So why not see if it worked?
Tension plinked through me, sharpening my thoughts and arraying an almost-forgotten possibility before me. Despite—or maybe because of—our platonic relationship, I wasn't ready to sleep with him. That would be just too weird, and Jenks would tell me I was overcompensating for something. But he was a ley line witch—I wasn't a slouch either—and though the age-old technique of drawing energy from one witch to another probably had its origins in our ancestral past to assure that strong witches procreated with strong witches to promote species strength, nowadays all that remained was insanely good foreplay. There was only one problem.
"Wait," I said, breathless as our kiss broke and reason filtered back into me.
Marshal's fingers slowed and dropped. "You're right. I should go. Dumb idea. I'll, uh, call you if you want. In about a year, maybe."
He sounded embarrassed, and I put a hand on his arm. "Marshal." Looking up, I shifted closer until our thighs touched. "Don't go." I swallowed hard. "I, uh, I haven't been with a witch in ages," I said in a small voice, unable to look up. "One who could pull on a line, I mean. I'd kind of like to…you know. But I don't know if I remember how."
His eyes widened as he understood, and his chagrin at my supposed rebuff was pushed out by something deeper, older: the question our DNA had written that begged to be answered. Who was the more proficient witch, and how much fun could we have finding that out?
"Rachel!" he said, his soft laugh turning me warm. "You don't forget stuff like that."
My mortification grew, but his gaze was one of understanding, and it gave me strength. "I didn't practice ley lines much then. Now…" I shrugged, embarrassed. "I don't know my limits. And with my aura being damaged…" I let my words trail off to nothing.
Marshal put his forehead against mine, his hands on my shoulders. "I'll be careful," he whispered. "Would you rather pull than push?" he said softly, hesitantly.
