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He opened his eyes, met her gaze of sparkling gray. He nodded, not quite able to put into words what he was feeling.
A gorgeous smile lit up her face. She leaned forward, inched closer to him. “All right. Now, I want you to connect with it more deeply. You’re probably hearing two melodies, right?”
Again he nodded silently.
Isa seemed just as eager as he was to tap into his powers. A euphoric thrill flooded him, and goose bumps whispered over his skin at the tenuous bond forming between them, the shared delight.
“Try to connect those melodies,” she told him.
“How?”
“Imagine it’s like…tying two threads together, at the most logical point. Visualize it. Once you’ve done that, you should be able to direct the melody, and thus affect the earth.”
He strained to listen to the hum resonating in him, to the corresponding almost-music coming from the element in his hand. They did…seem to overlap here and there. If only he could grasp the parts where they should connect, he might be able to knot them together. But every time he went to grab either thread, it slipped through his mental fingers.
Minutes ticked by. He lost count of how many times he tried. All the while Isa sat opposite him, patiently waiting for him to achieve something that probably came naturally to fae toddlers. Heat rose up to his neck and face, choking him like a too-tight collar. The hum in him faded, as did the melody from the earth on his palm, drowned out by his own heartbeat and the rush of blood in his ears.
His stomach hardened, and he shook his head once, balled his hand to a fist and crushed the bits of soil. “It’s no use,” he said and got to his feet, marched over to one of the windows, opened it, and threw out the dirt.
* * *
Basil remained standing there, his back turned to Isa, and stared out the window, hands on his hips. The frustration rolling off him was palpable, tinged with a dejection that saddened her. He’d been so hopeful, so anxious to connect with his powers, and…she’d felt it, too. With him. For him. She’d breathed his anticipation and joy as if it was her own, and his disappointment now cut her keenly, as if she had failed at something that was dear to her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
She walked over to him, and, driven by an impulse she couldn’t name, laid her hand on his shoulder. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and shifted infinitesimally closer, the move seeming almost subconscious.
“Maybe,” she ventured, “some of the glamour hasn’t lifted yet, and it impairs your ability to tap into your powers. Let’s give it some time. I’m sure you’ll figure it out soon.”
He nodded, turned toward her, and the move brought her hand from his shoulder to his upper chest. For some insidious reason, she found herself incapable of drawing back, her gaze glued to his face, to his eyes, the dazzling melange of shades of brown illuminated by the low light crystals scattered around the room. She saw it now, the earth in him. The kaleidoscope of his irises featured all the hues found in the soil, from lighter ochre to umber to burnt sienna to flecks of near-black.
The gleaming gold of his hair contrasted starkly with the dark of his eyes, complementing a face of masculine grace that was so finely drawn, its beauty so honed, it almost hurt to behold it. A gift from his fae genes, for sure.
Those mesmerizing eyes dropped to her mouth, and his intent lit the colors of his irises with an inner glow, warmed them until they glittered. That kind of focus…
She inhaled sharply, and every feminine part of her sat up at attention, basked in his overt appreciation.
When he slowly lifted his hand to her face, she didn’t flinch, didn’t retreat, rooted to the spot by the irrational, uncontrollable desire to welcome his touch. He brushed his thumb over her lower lip, so gently, so reverently, his gaze still locked on her mouth. Her pulse raced, her thoughts a scattered mess.
He leaned down toward her, stopped with his lips a mere inch from hers, his breath caressing her skin, his scent a heady embrace.
“Tell me you want this,” he murmured.
“If I didn’t,” she whispered back, “you would have already been pelted with pebbles.”
He laughed, so close to her mouth that his delight sank into her pores, lit up the darkness within her.
And then he kissed her.
The first touch of his lips on hers was the faintest caress, featherlight, a sweet hello. She breathed him in while a need—long-tamed and laid to sleep—awoke and stretched, reaching out for more. His next touch seemed to echo her awakening desire, his response unmistakable in the pressure of his lips on hers, the warmth of his hands as he rested them on her waist.
She met him eagerly, and when she opened her mouth against his, he licked at her, grazed his teeth over her lower lip, bit her tenderly. He inhaled her gasp, went back to kissing her before she could react, exploring her as one might sample and savor a delicacy. Pulling her closer, he seemed to drink her in, absorbing her every response, as if kissing her until she forgot her own name was his sole purpose in life.
Every shiver, each sigh, any lick of her tongue against his, appeared to fuel his determination to make sure his name was branded on every last cell in her body. His hands cupped her face, his fingers sliding into her hair, as he angled her head to kiss her even more fully, until she couldn’t say whether she’d ever been kissed before, until everything fell away beyond his heat stroking her senses, his taste sinking into her soul.
He devoted himself fully to this moment, as if he had all the time in the world, nothing but time for her. By the gods—no one, no one, had ever treated her this way. He kissed her like nothing he tasted for the rest of his life would ever caress his senses the way their kiss did.
The desire he kindled burned her from the inside out, setting her very bones on fire. For him. Breath heavy and fast, she pressed herself against him, her hands sliding up the hard planes of his chest, over his neck and into the silk of his hair. Desperate. She was desperate for more touch, more sensation, needed to feel him. And yet he held her still, kept his focus on kissing her, as if intent on driving her insane by giving her enough to make her smolder, yet too little to let her combust.
