Heart thumping in my ears, I look into his hardened stare. “I mean it, Orlaith. He’s a dangerous enemy to have. A dangerous man.”
“I can handle Rhordyn.”
His low, husky laugh ripples across my flushed skin. “Not alone, you can’t. But we’re in this together now.” His fingers thread around my cupla and my wrist. “I’ve got you.”
Not alone …
We’re in this together …
I’ve got you …
He tweets such perfect tunes.
This should be right. An easy love come to me on a gilded platter. One that doesn’t dig down enough to breach the vault of my deepest, darkest flaws. That doesn’t stare me down like he wants to disassemble me, then assess my broken bits.
This should be right.
I draw a breath to speak—
His lips slam against mine in a crushing kiss, deep and sensual and thought muddling, his hands painting the bare strips of my body with a blazing trail of attention—grabbing and kneading and tracing the lines of my ribs. It’s only when he pulls back and swipes the smudged lip lacquer from below my bottom lip that I realize I’m panting, chest heaving.
Drenched in affection, yet somehowparched.
“Come,” he purrs, brushing his knuckles along my jaw. He studies my face with a pleased glint in his eye that ignites the violet flecks. “I want him to see this blush in your cheeks before it wears off.”
Him …
I swallow the anxious pit in my throat as Cainon threads my arm through his and leads me down the stairs.
Late afternoon sun bathes the large, lavish room in golden light, spilling through an entire wall of tinted glass windows and warming the backs of my arms. The high ceiling is crowned with a gilded chandelier that’s dripping beads toward a lapis lazuli table twice the size of the one I used to eat at daily.
Stoic-faced servants file through the room, dressing the table in an array of heaped platters, among them seafood cooked in their shells and slathered in butter, deep bowls of spiced vegetables topped with crumbled nuts and herbs, and sweating urns of mint water.
Besides them and the finely dressed bard perched on a stool in the far corner of the room, it’s just us.
Me and Cainon.
He’s seated at the head, I’m along the side—the first seat in—and there’s a place setting opposite me that’s yet to be filled.
A male server with heavy steps walks into the room with a bottle of wine, making my heart leap into my throat—thoughts going to the bag stored beneath my chair.
To its contents ...
My wine flute is filled, and I tip it to my lips, taking a large, bubbly gulp, welcoming the buzz that settles in my gut.
Not that it really helps.
The hairs on my arms lift, and the next set of steps are unmistakablyhis—each foot landing with that resounding thud I know so well.
I keep my attention cast on a stack of glazed shanks, feeling his gaze upon me; tracking across my lips, the cut of my dress, the bare windows of skin it reveals.
All the places Cainon touched me.
Perhaps he doesn’t realize his walls are down. That I can feel how much it rankles him just by the string of tension stretched between us.
A shiver pebbles my skin. Makes my nipples squeeze into points, obvious through the thin strips of material barely keeping them covered. I feel him absorb the crude evidence of his effect on me—hatingmyself.
Hating the hot throb between my legs.
