The Marquis and the Magician's Assistant (The Rebel Royals 4)

How had Omar known that? He’d probably grilled Spin. When Lark got back to Mondego House, she’d have to squeeze the life out of her best friend in thanks. That is if she made it back to Mondego House tonight.

Omar kept his distance in the secluded room. Not that there was much space between them. It would take nothing for him to reach out and take her.

The flame in his gaze told Lark he wanted to. The curl of his lips told her he was hungry for the dish across the room from him more than he was for the one on his plate. But instead of taking a bite out of her, he toyed with his wine glass.

Lark reached out toward him. Omar’s smile grew as her fingers got closer. A flame from the candlelight danced in the dark of his eyes. She spread her fingers and snatched that flame.

They weren’t cast in darkness, not with the dozens of flickering lights illuminating the small space. Tendrils of smoke rose from the extinguished flame. The tendrils wrapped around Lark’s wrist like a bracelet.

With her other hand, she picked up another candle. She brought that flame into the wisps of smoke from the candle she’d extinguished. Without ever touching the wick of the first candle, Lark brought the first flame back to life.

Omar reached out then. He took the second candle from her hand. He blew the light out and then pressed a kiss to each of her fingers. With each brush of his lips, Lark felt a light ignite inside of her.

“Aren’t you going to ask me how I did that trick?” she said.

“No,” he said around a mouthful of her index finger. “I’m under no illusions about you.”

“No?”

“You’re the real deal.”

He came onto his knees. Leaning into her, he brushed a light kiss across her lips. It wasn’t enough.

Lark leaned forward. But instead of his lips, she met with something only slightly sweeter. The clafoutis.

He grinned as he fed her a bit. Using his thumb, he wiped a spot of the treat from the corner of her mouth and licked his finger. Clearly, the man liked to play with his food.

"I still don't understand why there are so few female magicians in the world," said Omar.

“The only place you won't find a line at a magician show is the ladies room," said Lark. "We’re an oddity."

"I find you fascinating."

He could've leaned over and taken her lips again. She would've given them. Instead, Omar savored his wine, not taking his eyes off her mouth, making her feel thirsty, hungry, wanton.

She'd been seduced but not out of her clothes. Omar had methodically and meticulously unlocked every one of her defenses as though she were a castle, and he’d taken apart all of her booby-traps.

"There's a stigma against women practicing magic," said Lark. "Trials, stakes, fires. Throughout history, if a woman possesses special powers, she was likely persecuted. Even midwives, healers, fortunetellers."

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"Can you tell the future?"

“Yours? Sure.” She leaned in closer. “The future is that you’re going to fall for me."

Omar shook his head. "That's the present."

Lark felt something shift in her chest. Her thoughts scattered. The raspberries he’d just fed her were like a triple shot of espresso waking all her senses. Every nerve ending stirred as though from a deep slumber.

She felt herself drifting to him. The pull irresistible. She was completely under his spell. She was also certain she was about to be seduced out of her clothes now.

"Are we keeping women now?"

Instead of tasting the sweet wine on Omar’s lips, Lark felt the bitter taste from the sigh that escaped his mouth. They both turned to find they were no longer alone in their secret hideaway.

The woman standing in the doorway could’ve passed for a model. But not one of the carbon copies that walked New York catwalks. No, this woman would’ve graced the international stages with her dark hair, golden brown features, and intelligent gaze. Lark knew she should be intimidated by this beauty. But the resemblance was too stark for jealousy to creep in.

"You're supposed to be in the capital, Alana,” said Omar.