“You’re thinking hard,” he said.

“I was thinking about when we first met.”

A devilish smile curved his mouth, and Dara shivered as a ribbon of desire pooled low in her stomach.

He lifted a hand, and with a flick of his fingers, a long gold leash feeding off the chain around her wrist appeared in his grasp. He gave it a little tug, just hard enough to lift her wrist away from her side.

She glared at him. “You said no spells!”

“No. I said there weren’t any draughts in your drink.” He made a face and tugged again at the gold leash. “Stop being so ornery and sit with me. It’s bad enough that I’ve missed you.”

She ignored the excited leap of her heart at those words, and walked across the room and sat beside him on the couch. He put his arm around her and hugged her shoulder.

“There, that wasn’t so bad?”

Close to him like this, she could feel his body heat, smell his enticing masculine scent. “Your cologne—” Dara gaped at him when she recognized it. How could she have forgotten? She leaned over and sniffed his neck to make sure she hadn’t imagined it. “That vanilla-cherry currant smell…. It is you. No wonder that candle smelled so familiar.”

He looked surprised. “I braided one of my hairs into the wick to ensure you ended up here, but I assure you, I didn’t add any cologne.”

She stared at him thoughtfully then sat back and laughed. “And you told me you’d quit smoking, you big liar. Your scent was in the candle: cherry-vanilla pipe tobacco, and brandy. You didn’t have to add any cologne to the candle, your hair braided into the wick put your magical essence in there for you.”

He raked a hand through his hair, a roguish grin spreading across his face. “You would deny a six hundred year old man his pipe?”

She gave a snort, and took another drink of her brandy. Beside her, Jiyong spoke a short command that reverberated around the room, and suddenly the furniture shifted.

Dara dug her fingers into the couch cushion to hold on, but it happened in an instant: the lounge tables vanished, the wing chairs moved. The couch they sat on revolved and sank to the floor, and when Dara looked down, the black cushions had remolded into a thick, white Flokati rug in front of the massive fireplace.

“There. Much more comfortable, don’t you think?” Before she could protest, he propped himself on his elbow and stretched out beside her. “So, tell me, how is work? You’re still making candles at your little shop?”

She started to tell him, but stopped short, uncertain. “Seriously? You want to talk?”

“What did you think I was going to do? Chain you and fall on you like a rutting beast?”

***

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