Page 18 of A Fae’s Guide to Tactical Botany

Except all he was doing was undressing, removing pieces of red and black and black and red and tossing them over a rack. His shirt beneath had been damp, translucent, spread in wrinkles like gauze over his strong chest and back, and then he’d taken that off, too, exposing the line of his back and the sharp wings of his shoulderblades, glistening with moisture. His movements had been sharp and erratic, practically crackling with leashed energy as he’d stalked to his Jeep.

While his back was turned, Mara had moved closer, until she was standing under his wide sunshade. She had felt dizzy, the danger of the moment sending lightning sparks of awareness out to her fingertips, and when he turned back from the Jeep, she’d held back a gasp. He was just so large, even with his armor off, the hard muscles of his chest far wider than her hands would span.

He had sat grouchily before her, his long legs stretched out in a relaxed sprawl almost far enough to meet her feet. The crack of an opening can had sent another jolt through her, one that somehow made her take a step forward, and another, until she was standing between his spread knees, close enough to smell the damp denim, the musk of sweat, the honeyed floral scent of whatever he was drinking. His lips had been a sensual pink curve against the silver of the can’s rim, and she’d licked her lips without thinking, holding her breath as he stroked the wet can against his cheek, leaving a faint trail of moisture and pinkness in its wake, and then down to the strong swell of his chest, droplets of condensation gleaming faintly in the diffuse sunlight, trickling along his pale skin, catching on his flat pink nipple, which hardened under her gaze, and she leaned forward to taste it and—

And she’d fled. Not just across the wash but all the way back to her ring of cacti, the barrier that she now knew was going to be entirely ineffective against the real danger.

She had not been prepared for this. Not one bit prepared.

Mara wanted him. She wanted him, this huge arrogant obnoxious brute who had invaded her peace. Now that she’d seen it—recognized it—it was unmistakable. The tingling sensitivity of her skin, the shuddering warmth in her stomach, the liquid heat deep within her bones like lava. The way he’d even invaded her dreams. Even now, part of her was reaching back through the sand, yearning, quivering at every shift of his weight upon the earth.

It was ridiculous.

He would return in the afternoon, undoubtedly. She had to prepare her fortifications, find a way to block his progress. But this was a greater problem. She could not wait.

With an annoyed huff, Mara fell to her knees, setting her hand gently upon the sand. She closed her eyes and sent her energies into the ground, aligning the crystal matrices, sending vibrations along the pathways she knew but had left untraveled for years.

The response came quickly, as she should have expected. An amused chuckle bubbled out of the earth, and the sand beneath her fingers that her magics had smoothed into a still pool swelled and bulged into a smiling face.

“Well,” said Ofelia through the sand. “This is an unexpected pleasure.”

Mara tried not to roll her eyes. “It is an emergency,” she replied. She ran her sandy hand through her hair.

The sand could only show the contours of her friend’s face, not the gleam of eyes or the tint of her skin, but the quirk of Ofelia’s eyebrow spoke volumes. “Do I need to come?”

“No,” Mara said on an exasperated laugh. “No, it is too foolish a reason for a visit.”

Ofelia’s lips twitched so sharply a tiny waterfall of sand cascaded down. “I’ve found foolishness can be entertaining, of late. But it is your choice.” A sigh sent a puff of sand into the air. “I suppose it was too much work to retrieve your cell phone?”

“I haven’t charged it for…” Mara frowned, thinking. “It is possible my contract has expired. But regardless, there is no phone service here. That is why I chose to come here. To be alone.”

“Yes,” Ofelia said gently. “I know.”

“I need to be alone,” Mara repeated, her voice going higher.

“And so you are.”

“But I am not.”

Ofelia’s sand-cast eyelids narrowed. “Who is there?”

“A man,” Mara said. There was more she wanted to say—an intruder, a thief, an invader—but her friend knew her too well, knew the tone of her voice, and did not wait for her to continue.

“A man,” Ofelia repeated, her voice pregnant with understanding. “Well, it is about time.”

“It is not—” Her voice cracked on the denial, the denial she knew was a lie.

“Is it not?” It was as gentle as anything Ofelia had said to her for the past five years, but that tenderness made it slice deeper.

“I am not ready,” Mara whispered instead. “I still grieve. I still… I am not ready.”

“But your body is.” It wasn’t a question. Ofelia let the pronouncement hang in the air for a moment before continuing. “I must admit, I fail to see the problem. It would do you good to have a moment’s surcease from your pain. And you know Tristan would want—”

“I know what he would want,” Mara said doggedly. “And I know… I know I cannot do this forever. One more summer. That is all I wanted. One summer for every ten we had, for every hundred we should have had.”

Ofelia remained silent for a long time, the sandy relief of her face serene and enigmatic. “I did not realize,” she said at last, “that your time with the humans had inhibited you so.”

“I am not inhibited,” Mara said. “Nor was Tristan. We loved as the fae love, fully and freely.”