Page 22 of Too Hexed to Handle

Well, bully for him. I’d take half this number of patrons and consider it a success. I’m also growing increasingly concerned he’s not lying, which means . . .

Astin stretches out a hand. ‘Give us the key.’

Oh no. No, no, no. I nudge his side. We can’t share a room. He’s seen what happens when people do. Even when they’re convinced there’s nothing between them, there’s something about the magic of sharing a bed that changes everything. I can’t let it change us. A hot flush sweeps over my body. Hexes, I’m not sure how to stop this. We’re going to get into bed and fall in love and he’s going to kiss me and I’m going to kill him and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. It’s the rule.

‘Dais?’ Astin’s face comes too close to mine and my heart does several somersaults in rapid succession. Oh, hexes. It’s happening already. His breath ghosts my mouth, warm and sweet and – ‘Are you okay? You’re all pale and clammy.’

I blink. They’re not the words of adoration I’d expected, but maybe the anticipation of being in one bed has caused him to confuse most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen with . . . well, the truth. A quick glance in a mirror hanging by the stairwell tells me the colour has, indeed, drained from my face and been replaced with a sheen of moisture so thick the ends of my hair are stuck to my skin. Mud is streaked across my clothes from when we fell.

‘I do feel a little sick,’ I say, fanning myself. Maybe if I faint right here, right now, there won’t be time for the magic of the bed to take hold.

‘We need to get your weight off that ankle. Come on.’

‘I know, but – where are you going?’

He’s already walking towards the staircase. Clearly, he hasn’t noticed there’s a crisis at hand. I rush after him, forgetting the state of my ankle and swallowing a cry when it wobbles under the weight of my leg. I clutch the banister for support. Aside from this being a terrible idea, I can’t manage those stairs alone. ‘Astin, wait!’

‘I’ll help you in a second,’ he calls over his shoulder. ‘I’ll drop off our bags first.’

‘That’s not the issue!’ For a moment, I think he hasn’t heard me. Or he has heard and chosen to ignore me.

Two steps later and he halts, stomping down to meet me at the foot of the stairs. ‘What?’

I press my lips together.

‘Daisy, you have five seconds.’

‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’ I blurt out. ‘You and me. In a room.’

‘We’re in a room right now and nothing terrible’s happened.’

I take a step closer and hiss, ‘You know what I mean.’

He manages to make a face that’s simultaneously devoid of expression while also appearing extremely unimpressed. ‘No. I don’t.’

Oh, hexes. I don’t want to spell this out for him. It might give him ideas. I certainly have ideas. My cheeks burn hot again. We can’t both have ideas. We’ll never survive.

Astin must take pity on me, because before I can find a way to phrase my explicit thoughts in an inexplicit manner, he says, ‘But if you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, I can assure you, we’re going to be fine.’

‘But –’

‘Listen to me. We are not going to fall in love by sharing a bed.’

‘But people do.’

‘In your head, maybe.’ He rolls his eyes. ‘In fact, this’ll be an excellent opportunity to prove your theory wrong.’

‘It’s not a theory.’ My indignation has me hopping after him, because he seems to have decided this conversation’s over. ‘I’ve seen it in action. We both have! You can’t deny it.’

Astin dumps our bags outside door number seven and jams the key in the lock. ‘Fine. Maybe you’ve succeeded in getting some people to admit their feelings for each other. Feelings that were already there.’ The lock clicks. ‘But we don’t have that problem, do we?’

I don’t answer.

His gaze slides to meet mine, and the air leaves my lungs. I don’t think the question was an accusation, but it came close; a bruise being prodded to see if it hurts. My body is in overdrive. The blue in his eyes is a whirlpool sucking me in, stronger and more inescapable than any quicksand, and as I lose myself in his stare it’s like I’m stripped bare, like he can see every thought I’ve ever had about him that implies I very much have that problem.

‘Daisy?’ he prompts.

I clear my throat. ‘Right,’ I say, the word coming out garbled, as though it’s had to force its way through a net full of lies and parts of it got stuck in the mesh.