“I didn’t even see you until you’d jumped,” he heard her say from very close now. “And it was the weirdest thing, it was like the brakes just locked up, and the steering wheel had a mind of its—oof!”
Rhys’s hands came up automatically as Vivienne tripped over his prone form, but it was too late to catch her, and now he got to add a seriously sharp elbow to the testicles to his list of grievances.
“I’m sorry!” she said again, scrambling to push herself up, her body half draped over his even as he attempted to curl in on himself.
“No worries,” he managed to wheeze, and then her hands were on his chest, her hair hanging down in his face, brushing his lips.
“Rhys?”
Some of the pressure on his chest eased as she lifted a hand, and with a flick of her fingers, a soft light hovered over the pair of them there on the ground.
Any hope he’d had that whatever he’d felt for her nine years ago had been a mad mix of summer and magic and hormones was immediately squashed as he looked into those hazel eyes, took in her flushed cheeks and her parted lips.
Likewise, any hope that she might have forgiven him in the intervening years died a groaning death as she narrowed her eyes and said, “I shouldn’t have tried to slow down.”
“Good to see you, too, Vivienne,” he said, still a little breathless from his slide down the hill and near emasculation.
Pushing herself off him, Vivienne rose to her feet and began brushing the leaves and various debris from her skirt.
Her polka dot skirt.
Her whole dress was polka dot, he saw now, little orange ones on a black background.
Had he always found polka dots so instantly, intensely erotic?
Wasn’t really a thing he’d considered before, and it was possible he’d hit his head somewhere in his fall, but there was nothing for it now. Polka dots had replaced black lace and red satin in any sexual fantasy he might have for the rest of his life.
The light she’d conjured up still floated by her head, and as she picked the last stray leaf off her black jacket, she looked back down at him.
“Why were you on the road?” she asked, and he nodded back up the hill.
“Flat tire.”
Vivienne snorted, pulling her jacket tighter around her as another gust of wind rustled the trees. “So you couldn’t change it magically or physically?”
“Having a bit of a night, to tell the truth.”
“Same.”
“And why were you on this road, Vivienne? Did you hear I was coming back?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. My aunt still lives on this road, and I was heading home from dinner with her and Gwyn.”
“Ah, Gwyn,” he said, remembering her cousin, a pink-haired witch who, he suspected, had hated him on sight.
Smart girl.
“How is she? And your aunt?”
Vivienne sighed, tipping her head back to look at the sky. “How about we not do this?” she said, and Rhys rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow.
“What, talk to one another?”
“Make small talk,” Vivienne said, looking down her nose at him. “Neither of us is any good at it.”
For a long moment, they stared at each other, Rhys still on the ground, Vivienne standing above him, and he remembered they’d been in a similar position the last time he’d seen her, right after she’d leapt out of his bed when he’d told her that he had to go back to Wales to get out of his betrothal.