What I can make people do . . . it’s not what they want to do. It may sound corny, but I want people to like me for me, not because I can force them to or because of who my mom is or who I am in the Family. You know?”He raised his green gaze to my blue one. “That’s one of the things I like about you, Lila. You don’t care about any of that.”“Just one of the things?” I teased, trying to make him laugh a little, just so he’d forget his guilt and grief, if only for a few moments.“Just one.” His voice took on a low, husky note. “I could list all the others, if you want.”My gaze locked with his and my soulsight kicked in, showing me all of his emotions. And I felt them, too—more intensely than I ever had before. His heart still ached with that soul-crushing guilt, and it always would. But that hot spark I’d seen inside him that first day at the Razzle Dazzle had finally ignited into a roaring fire, burning as hot and bright as my own emotions were right now.Devon hesitated, then leaned in, just a little. My breath caught in my throat.He inched forward a little more. I wet my lips.He came even closer, so close that his warm breath brushed my cheek and his scent flooded my nose, that sharp, fresh tang of pine. Clean and crisp, just like he was, inside and out. I sighed. Suddenly, my hands itched to touch him, to trace my fingers over the sharp planes of his face, and then slide them lower, over all of his warm, delicious muscles . . .“Lila,” he whispered.I shivered, loving the sound of my name on his lips—lips that were heartbreakingly close to mine—
Jennifer Estep, Cold Burn of Magic
devon-sinclair, lila-merriweather, romance