“You healed me by magic,” she said slowly. “Then you made me do you.”
“You think I used magic to make you—” His cool blue eyes blazed hot with fury. “I don’t need sex that bad.”
“Could have fooled me,” she muttered.
Was she imagining things or did his cheeks flush just a little?
“Glass houses,” he said.
“Huh?”
“From the way you were writhing and moaning and coming, you needed it, too.”
She had. But she wasn’t going to tell him that.
“What kind of man climbs into bed with an injured woman—”
“According to you, I’m not a man,” he snapped. “And because of me, you weren’t exactly injured. You were, however, blue with cold.”
Alex glanced at the still-swirling snowstorm outside the cave. “You were just keeping me warm?”
“Someone had to.”
Alex narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t have to seduce me.”
“Are you so sure it was me who seduced you?”
Alex opened her mouth, then shut it again. He was right. She wasn’t sure.
“How about we just forget it ever happened?” Alex asked.
“If you can, I can.” He lay down and yanked the quilt off her and onto him with one sharp tug.
“Hey!” She yanked it back.
He shrugged and let her, placing his arms behind his head and crossing his ankles. Unfortunately the sight of him—long and bronzed, legs and arms thick with muscle—made Alex consider throwing the quilt back over him again. Because for every inch of his skin she appeared to have a memory of touching, tasting—
“Stop it,” she muttered.
He opened one eye. “Stop what?”
“Your hoodoo, voodoo, witchy crap.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You made me want you.”
His lips quirked. “You wanted me?”
“As much as you wanted me.”
“Who said I did?”
Alex lowered her eyes to his now limp member; it twitched beneath her gaze. Alex smirked.
Barlow sat up, flicking the corner of the quilt over his lap. “I did not use magic on you.”
“You said—”