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I answered by sliding my fingers into his hair and kissing him again.

His hands returned to my waist. He did not tug me onto his lap or take more than I offered. Somehow, that patience made me want to give him everything. I leaned closer, fitting myself against him, and felt his breath leave him in a rough rush.

He kissed the corner of my mouth, my jaw, then the sensitive place beneath my ear. Each touch lingered just long enough to make me anticipate the next. My magic crept over his shoulders in thin ribbons of gold, tracing the shape of him through his shirt.

“Is that supposed to happen?” he murmured against my throat.

“My magic has never been known for respecting privacy.”

“I like it.”

“It likes you too. The traitor.”

His laugh warmed my skin. He pressed one more kiss to my collarbone, then stopped. Not because I asked him to. Because my breathing had changed and he was paying attention.

“Too much?” he asked.

“Not enough, which is currently the problem.”

Desire darkened his eyes, but his hands remained exactly where they were. “I can work with that.”

“No, you absolutely cannot. If I stay much longer, my mother will send half the coven looking for me.”

A washing machine entered its spin cycle downstairs. The couch shuddered beneath him, and Logan glanced toward the floor.

“Even the building is judging my timing.”

“The building has terrible boundaries.”

I kissed him once more, slow enough to carry all the things I was not ready to say. When I finally stepped away, his hands fell from my waist reluctantly, but he did not try to stop me.

The next night, I returned with another book, two small charms for warmth and peaceful sleep, and no believable excuse for why I stayed until the hour before dawn.

I brought him pieces of myself too. My stories. My fears. My dreams of a different life. Each night, he gave me pieces of himself in return.

On the fourth night, I arrived empty-handed.

Logan looked at me, then peered theatrically over my shoulder.

“No blood? No stolen grimoires?” he asked. “Did the coven shut down our illicit supernatural care-package operation?”

“I thought I’d bring something different tonight.”

His gaze returned to mine. “Should I be concerned?”

“Probably. I brought myself.”

His expression softened. “That’s the only thing I was hoping for.”

“Put on shoes.”

“I am wearing shoes.”

“Those are slippers.”

“They have soles. That makes them outdoor formalwear.”

I stared until he changed.