Morrigan's Cross (Circle Trilogy 1)

He learned the considerable pleasure of showering with a woman, then the fascinating pleasure of watching one dress.

She rubbed creams into her skin, and different ones over her face.

The bra, and what she called panties, were blue today. Like a robin’s egg. Over these she pulled rough pants and the short, baggy tunic she called a sweatshirt. On it were words that spelled out WALKING IN A WICCAN WONDERLAND.

He thought the outer clothes made what she wore beneath a kind of marvelous secret.

He felt relaxed and very pleased with himself. And balked when she told him to sit on the lid of the toilet. She picked up scissors, snapped them together.

“Why would a man of sense allow a woman to come near him with a tool like that?”

“A big, tough sorcerer like you shouldn’t be afraid of a little haircut. Besides, if you don’t like it when I’m done, you can change it back.”

/> “Why are women always after fiddling with a man?”

“It’s our nature. Indulge me.”

He sighed, and sat. And squirmed.

“Be still, and it’ll be done before you know it. How do you suppose Cian deals with grooming?”

He rolled his eyes up, over, to try to see what she was doing to him. “I wouldn’t know.”

“No reflection must make it a chore. And he always looks perfect.”

Now Hoyt slid his eyes toward hers. “You like the way he looks, do you?”

“You’re almost mirror images, so it’s obvious I do. He has that slight cleft in his chin and you don’t.”

“Where the faeries pinched him. My mother used to say.”

“Your face is a little leaner, and your eyebrows have more of an arch. But your eyes, those mouths and cheekbones—the same.”

He watched hair fall into his lap, and inside the mighty sorcerer, his belly trembled. “Jesus, woman, are you shearing me bald?”

“Lucky for you I like long hair on a man. At least I do on you.” She dropped a kiss on the top of his head. “Yours is like black silk, with just a little wave. You know, in some cultures, when a woman cuts a man’s hair it’s a vow of marriage.”

His head jerked, but she’d anticipated the reaction and moved the scissors. Her laugh, full of fun and teasing, echoed off the bathroom walls. “Joking. Boy, are you easy. Almost done.”

She straddled his legs, standing with hers apart, and her breasts close to his face. He began to think a haircut wasn’t such a hardship after all.

“I liked the feel of a woman.”

“Yes, I seem to recall that about you.”

“No, what I’m meaning is I liked the feel of a woman when I had one. I’m a man, have needs like any other. But it never occupied so much of my mind as it does with you.”

She set the scissors aside, then combed her fingers through his damp hair. “I like occupying your mind. Here, have a look.”

He stood, studied himself in the mirror. His hair was shorter, but not unreasonably. He supposed it fell in a more pleasing shape—though it had seemed fine to him before she’d gone after it.

Still, she hadn’t sheared him like a sheep, and it pleased her.

“It’s well enough, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He finished dressing, and when they went downstairs they found all but Cian in the kitchen.