Stop it, Rachel, I thought, wiping my hands on my apron and turning to him.

He was too close, and I shivered when his hands slid around my waist. “I suppose a peck on the cheek won’t do?” I said as he started to lean in. He was just a shade taller than me, and I was suddenly a hundred times more nervous. He practiced wild magic, and he could sing his enemies to death or my soul into a bottle. He was dangerous now, tantalizingly dangerous, whereas before he’d been simply annoying, and my pulse increased.

I stiffened, and his motion toward me hesitated. “Sorry,” he said, and he pulled me close. I was as nervous as all hell, and I didn’t know what to do with my hands. They felt funny at his hips, but I left them there—the best of a bad situation. My eyes closed when he got too close, and the smell of cinnamon and wine hit me.

It pulled my head up, and with a startled brush, our lips met.

His touch was light on mine, as if afraid or, more likely, reluctant. A bare hint of pressure, and then he leaned in, his hands on me, pulling me to him. His lips moved against mine, and I still stood there, my heart pounding as I tasted him—oak and leaf, sun on moving water. The prick of wild magic raced over my skin like a shimmer of electricity, enticing, warning me even as I felt it pull a response from me. Breath held, I relaxed my grip on him, finding my hands moving, shaping to him, becoming natural.

Okay, this wasn’t so bad.

Encouraged, my head tilted, pulling away from him with the unsaid language of lovers that demanded he follow. And he did, spinning a thrill through me from his lips to my toes. My pulse jumped, and I pushed against him, my body molding itself to him. Breath catching, he responded, his good hand lifted to touch my face, his fingers light on my jaw, but hinting for more. A slip of tongue touched mine, and a thought rose like a bubble.

Oh my God. I’m kissing Trent.

Making a small noise, I pulled back, heart pounding as I looked at him. “This isn’t working,” I said, my lips cool where he had been. I was tingling everywhere, and wild magic was making his eyes flash in anger.

“Because I’m the one doing everything here,” he said, reaching forward.

“Hey!” I yelped, but he’d grabbed my arm and pulled me back to him.

“It’s like the cookies,” he said as his bandaged hand encircled my waist. “You’re not helping. Give me something back to show your agreement.”

“What the hell do I have to do? Rip your clothes off?” I snapped, then gasped as he yanked my hip right into him. “Trent!” I protested, but the word was muffled as he found my mouth. Wild magic lit through me, burning not with fire but warmth. It raced like flash paper, flowing to my chi, overflowing and tingling to my fingertips.