Her own eyes snapped open, and she stopped moving abruptly. “What’s wrong?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t answer. Shaking my head, I kissed her again, desperate to try. Desperate to relieve this ache between us—this yearning I’d once known and almost remembered. I wanted it. I feared it. I kissed her until I couldn’t tell the difference.

“Reid.” Her fingers curled around my wrist. With a start, I realized she’d pulled free. She eased my hand from her pants now, her eyes fixed steadily upon mine. They shone with keen emotion. Though I wanted to name the feeling I saw there, to acknowledge it, I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. “Not . . . not like this. You aren’t ready.”

“I’m fine—”

“I don’t think you are.” Leaning forward, she pressed a kiss upon my forehead, featherlight. The tenderness in the movement nearly broke me. The intimacy. “Slow down, Reid. We have time.”

Slow down, Reid. We have time.

We have time.

Defeated, I withdrew at the words, my forehead falling to the crook of her neck. My hands bracing against the door. She sank slowly to the floor as silence descended. When I didn’t break it, only clenched my fists against the wood, she nuzzled her cheek against my hair. She actually nuzzled me. I closed my eyes. “Talk to me,” she whispered.

“I can’t.” The words fell thick from my tongue. Clumsy. “I’m sorry.”

“Never apologize for being uncomfortable.”

“I’m not uncomfortable. I’m—I’m—” Adrift. Though I wrenched my face up to stare at her then, I immediately regretted the decision. Her eyebrows, her nose, her freckles. And those eyes—I could drown in those eyes. Light from the windows sparkled within their turquoise depths. This close, I could see the ring of icy blue around her pupils. The sea-green flecks of her irises. She couldn’t keep looking at me like this. She couldn’t keep touching me like she—like she— “Why don’t I remember you?” I demanded.

Those beautiful eyes blinked. “You chose to forget.”

“Why?”

“Because you loved me.”

Because you loved me.

Throwing my hands in the air, I stalked across the cabin. It made no sense. If I’d loved her, why had I left her? If I’d embraced her as a witch—if I’d embraced myself—why had I given it up? Had I been happy? Had she? The way she said my name . . . it spoke of more than a fleeting moment of lust.

It spoke of more.

Like a moth to a flame, I faced her once more. “Show me.”