She gave a shaky nod.
“What did you dream about?”
“I-I was being chased by my father’s men and…” A tremor shook her shoulders, and then another.
The bastard! Reigning in his fury, Thomas drew her against him.
Alesone hesitated, and then laid her head against his chest.
Thomas wrapped his arms around her, and rested his chin atop her head. As long as he drew a breath, nay one would hurt her again. Several moments passed, but he remained silent, gave her time to calm.
“I dreamt my father and his men were chasing me,” she finally whispered. “Then he was reaching out to grab me. I tried to fight him, but I couldna escape.” She sat back, and he immediately missed her body’s touch. Alesone sniffed. “’Tis ridiculous to be upset of thoughts found in one’s sleep.”
After having lived through his own night terrors he understood the traumatic visions nightmares could deliver. “At times in our life each of us struggle against memories, some awake, and some while we sleep. Though we could use the help of a friend, ’tis stubbornness that has us turning away from what we yearn for the most.”
“Words of experience?” Her warm breath brushed across his neck.
Needing to touch her, he cupped her jaw, stroked his thumb along the curve of her chin, and his body tightened at the slide of silky skin beneath. “Aye.”
Her gaze grew intense. Covers shifted as she moved closer, the mix of her scent her and lavender storming his senses.
If he leaned forward, their lips would brush, and he could taste her. Except he’d remained to offer her friendship.
“What are you thinking?”
Like a caress, her soft words stroked his need higher. “What I have nae right to.”
She turned the slightest degree, but the movement aligned her mouth to his.
Heart pounding, he struggled for his next breath. “I must leave.”
“A wise man said that there are times we all could use the help of a friend, but ’tis stubbornness that has us turning away from what we yearn for the most.”
He swallowed hard, didna move, didna dare to, the grip on his desire tentative at best.
“And at this moment,” Alesone whispered, “’tis you I yearn for.”
Chapter Twelve
The ache to feel Thomas’s lips upon hers smothered Alesone’s intent to keep her distance. On a shudder, she pressed her mouth against his, and groaned beneath the explosion of sensation. As his taste flooded her, she shifted closer, stilled. He hadna moved.
Humiliation smothered the shot of desire, and she stumbled back. “I am sorry.”
Thomas caught her arm. “Why did you kiss me?” he rasped, his gaze searing into hers.
“When we played chess you…” Heat stole up her cheeks, and she shook her head, wishing she could disappear. Throughout her life, outside Grisel and Burunild, she’d hadna allowed herself to become close to anyone.
How had this man had broken her carefully constructed barriers? More, made her yearn for his touch. “I believed you were attracted to me, that I…” She gave a shaky exhale. “Forgive me.”
“Alesone.” He stepped before her.
Tears clogged her throat. “I am sorry.” She tried to jerk free, but he drew her closer. Their bodies aligned; she tried to ignore his muscled strength, his protective yet gentle hold. Until this aloof warrior had entered her life, never had she envisioned meeting a man that made her want. Except given the circumstance, however much she ached for him, ’twas wrong to embroil him in her debacle of a life as more than that of her protector.
“Alesone—”
“Let me go. Please.” Before the yearnings rushing through her eroded her fragile hold and she asked him to stay and to lay with her throughout the night. Shocked by the yearnings he aroused, she awaited the flood of guilt, the remorse, but found only desire instead.
His hand skimmed up her neck to cradle her mouth. “And if I left,” Thomas pressed his mouth over hers, along the curve of her jaw, and against her throat, and with each touch, she surrendered further. “I would be a fool.”
