North’s thumb strokes up and down the side of my hip, lulling away the defensiveness with his unexpected touch.
He only ticked the box for a sexual relationship, but this feels a little too much like more than that. Still, I hold my tongue. I don’t think I’ll ever object to more touch from him—or any of them.
I’m shamelessly addicted to intimacy after centuries spent in the cold.
“I don’t think you’ll struggle to find a spark,” he corrects, his other hand tugging my blouse back up and around my shoulders. “You’re just prickly because you’re not used to putting your trust in others—especially men.”
Because it was a man who tricked me into the Arcanaeum. A man who stabbed me. An heir.
An Ackland.
Perhaps he’s right.
I swallow, not enjoying the disquieted tumble deep in my gut.
Was I testing him? Provoking him seemed fun at the time, but deep down, was I looking for him to snap? To lash out or betray me like Edmund did?
North’s knowing look strips me to the bone, and he leans forward to press a small kiss to my temple.
“You can brat for me any time, Ice Queen. I can handle it.”His hand winds around my hip, moving my skirt aside so his fingers can trace the seam of my sex. “And maybe I was wrong. Maybe you’ll make a passable submissive, with a little training.”
It’s the worst kind of tease. Too light to send me over the edge, but enough to keep the flames of my arousal simmering. It distracts me from his almost-compliment so badly that I can’t gather my wits to reply.
“Answer me honestly,” he says after a pause. “Did you enjoy that?”
I meet his probing stare with one raised brow. “Yes. Does that surprise you?”
The fullness of his lower lip disappears as he bites it while he thinks, and his touch moves to my lower back, thumb tracing circles there. “You don’t tolerate disrespect from anyone.”
That touch is anchoring me, and when combined with the sense of being surrounded by him, it turns my blood to honey in my veins.
“I appear to be making a lot of exceptions for you and the others. What’s one more?” I pause. “Only for this, though. Never?—”
“No. Only for this, and never in front of anyone else.” His agreement is fast and soft, and it’s the final piece of reassurance I need to relax fully against him.
We stay like that for a heartbeat longer, and his smile is gentler, missing some of its usual arrogance, when he releases me. “Get some sleep and try not to think too hard. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
“You need rest, too.” I get to my feet and hold out my hand as a peace offering. He surprises us both when he takes it and stands, zipping up his fly.
One look, and I know that the soft, concerned version of North I just saw is hidden away again.
He confirms it when he says, “Fine. But don’t get any ideas. I’m just making sure you don’t try to dodge your punishment.”
“It’s not punishment,” I growl. “It’s torture.”
“I disagree.” He holds the door for me like a gentleman, then slaps my ass as I walk through it. Neanderthal. “It’s going to be fun watching you squirm yourself to sleep and unleashing a grumpy, frustrated Librarian on those parriarch bastards in the morning.”
Why, that conniving…scheming…asshole!
Twenty-Eight
Galileo
My grandfather’s house looms at the top of the hill, casting a black shadow over me as I make my hasty retreat.
Sweet fecking stars above. Jamie. The kid’s only eight. He’s never had friends, but he was one of the lucky ones. Both of his parents stuck around.
I suppose they’re lucky to have lived through the curse, but at the end of the day, the kid’s just lost his sight. The wee lad hasn’t stopped screaming since it happened. How can my grandfather be so immune to it all? How can he recite that news without even a trace of grief for the child whose life has just been flipped upside down?
