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still as hard as iron within her—he had yet to come. She forced her deliciously lax flesh to wiggle experimentally against his, and was gratified to hear him exhale on a moan that sounded desperate.
    “Turn around.” His voice was husky, raking over the rough gravel of unslaked lust. It caused the still smoldering embers of arousal that simmered low in Moira’s belly to burst again into full flame. With a murmur of agreement, she pushed herself away from the rough edge of the tub, from the hypnotic glow of the Lamp of the Sapphire, and turned so that she was again settled with her back to the wood. Boone ran firm fingers down the entire length of each of her legs as she settled, making her shiver. After a slow, sensual caress to the bottoms of her feet, one that had her purring with delight, he rested a bent knee on each of his shoulders; Moira floundered in the simmering water, digging for purchase on the slick floor of the tub.
    She needn’t have worried, however, for as his fingers expertly opened the swollen lips of her labia, allowing his slick cock to enter her once more, she found herself cradled so tightly between wood and man that she couldn’t have moved if she wanted to. Widening the space between her legs, she allowed her gaze to become riveted on his eyes—eyes that flashed with every thrust that filled her all the way to her womb.
    They came together, she on a breathy sigh and he with a loud shout that issued out of the depths of his throat. When the quaking in her muscles had died down to tiny shivers, she went limp, as he did, and they lolled in the water that was still, miraculously, steaming. The air was silent but for the raggedness of their breath as it left their lungs.
    The sweat of hard sex glued Moira’s cheek to Boone’s shoulder, where she had rested it. As she inhaled the musk that sex had aroused on his skin, she tried to kick-start her hormone-deadened brain into examining in detail the enormity of the situation. Her perverse mind insisted, however, on remaining as it was, floating lightly in a pleasure-induced abyss. One thought did manage to drift upward, however. As Moira’s heart thumped, it made itself perfectly clear.
    She had found her mate—of that she was certain. It explained their instant connection; it explained why she had trusted him when she had such strong feelings about magic.
    But what, exactly, was she supposed to do with the fact that he had that magic—magic that wasn’t allowed in the havens, magic that was an insult to the memory of her family?
    And even more…what should she do with the fact that he couldn’t stay with her once she had made her wish—for no longer than a day?

Chapter Three
    Boone had been with many women in the years since the queen had imprisoned him in the lamp—his punishment for saving Moira when she was a child. He’d been with men, too, and his body had enjoyed them all, taking the comfort of physical pleasure, the only real comfort he’d had in a life that had been utterly out of his control since the day he’d first seen Moira Connor.
    What had just passed between them had shaken him to the core. It was real.
    He might not fully be a witch anymore, but he still knew—he had found his mate. He, a cursed witch, had found a mate in the human girl who despised magic, who was destined to save the world from his own kind.
    He hadn’t had a vision, not a true one, since he’d first seen Moira’s face, floating in his dreams, so many years ago. But in that moment he knew that with more certainty than he’d ever felt that nothing good could come of this.
    He hadn’t been entirely truthful with her when explaining the rules of the lamp—of his curse. He didn’t have to leave her once she had made her wish… not if she wished for his freedom. The problem there lay in the fact that he had no idea whether or not he would retain any of his magic once he was freed.
    And humans never wished for selfless things, anyway. They all wanted