Bewitched by His Kiss. Barbara Monajem

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      Furious and ashamed—which was entirely unjust because whatever she claimed, she did want it as much as he—David Elderwood dabbed the blood from his cheek and headed back to meet Alexis. He didn’t want to want Lucasta Barnes. Wanting her was a damned nuisance. He would far prefer to go back to his old carefree life, where he’d taken his pleasure with actresses and opera dancers and rarely considered marriage. His magical blood had meant women fell in love with him left and right, and he’d been more than happy to take full advantage of that!

      Until Lucasta came along, and his long-dead mother’s warnings at last made sense.

      “You will enjoy it at first,” his mother had told him, and although he’d only been ten years old at the time, he’d had no difficulty believing her. He already liked the look of women. Besides, his mother was always right. Right about the hobs and bogies—no one in the household saw them except her and David—and right that he could see paths where others saw thickets, and knew by instinct where to seek entrance to the fairy mounds. “But it will pall, if there is no love involved,” she’d said. Right again.

      Now he bore with the women patiently and tried to be polite, but he couldn’t stomach them for more than a few minutes at a time. Not that he’d been celibate since that incredible coupling with Lucasta three years ago—of course not—but he’d stuck with one woman, an undemanding mistress who appreciated a comfortable income in exchange for satisfying his needs now and then. It was a boring liaison, but he didn’t have the taste for anything else. Lately, he’d had no taste for anything at all.

      How could he, when he was bound to Lucasta for better or worse? This captivity was far more constraining than marriage, because it was born of magic and fueled by love and would never, ever fade.