I offered so the insides of my wrists and my palms touched. “You’ll have to wind it around my fingers too.”
Theodore held my gaze as he wrapped the rope agonizingly slowly around my wrists. With each loop, he made sure his fingers grazed my skin, sending fiery shocks of anticipation through me. As my heart began to speed and a warmth began to pool in my lower belly, I questioned ifthiswas one of the worst ideas I’d ever had. “This is reckless.” It didn’t come out as an admonishment at all. Instead, it came out breathy and languid and low.
He went even slower as he looped the rope around my fingers, using his teeth to hold the end of it so he could adjust his grip. “I thought I’d go slow…” The corner of his mouth lifted, pulling in the dimple that marked his cheek. “So as not to spook you.”
I remembered the way his skin had punctured beneath the pressure of my talons. “Don’t laugh about me hurting you.”
“I’m not.”
“Then why in the bloody Gods are you smiling?”
He knotted the ends of the rope with a tug. “Because I’ve imagined you like this before,” he said, keeping his deep voice smooth. He let go of my hands, his heated eyes lingering on my lips, and leaned in. “Only in my imaginings, I was allowed to touch you.” He threw his legs over the rail and balanced on the lip of the deck with ease. “Two can fit nicely on the net below the bowsprit. No one will find us there in this fog.” He extended a hand to help me.
I tried to peer at the net over his shoulder but could see nothing at all. “Did you learn about this hiding spot during your pleasure-cruise years?”
The full smile that broke across his face was shining and mischievous. “Oh no. I had no need for a net when there was a bed in my stateroom.”
I looked skyward in an attempt to seem exasperated, but I simply couldn’t bear the way his smile made my stomach fly up toward my heart. “We’ll speak quickly. We’ll say what we need to, and we will not linger. Agreed?”
He worked his jaw. “Agreed.”
I moved awkwardly with my hands folded up against my chest, but he helped guide my hips, then my legs over the rail. Finally, when I stood as he did, toes on the lip of the deck and the netting behind us, he stepped backward and set his boots onto the wide knots of the footropes.
His grip found my waist, and he hauled me backward, until I was pressed firmly against the front of his body. He spoke in a breathy croon at my ear. “I actually found this spot when I was a ruttish adolescent. Privacy was a difficult thing to find for a young prince.”
Despite my mood, I tipped back my head and laughed. “You poor thing.”
His own chuckle was a deep vibration against my back, enticing me to stay like that—backed against him, head on his shoulder—for a moment too long. His hands sank lower until they sat upon the curve of my hips, where he dug in his fingers.
He groaned, then released me in a rush. “Forgive me.” He helped lower me to the netting, then lowered himself to sit across from me, close enough so that we could see each other through the mist.
The water crashed against the hull below, rolling the ship up and down, and a gnarled silence grew between us. It looped and choked the way untended roots do, but I had no idea how to begin to unfurl it.
“Is Eftan…” I began, clumsily.
He looked away. Shook his head. “He’s fine.”
“I’m sorry. I lost control—”
“Imogen, he tried to kill you.” He adjusted himself on the netting, crossing his arms against the cool air. “Are you all right?” he finally asked, tentatively.
It was a simple question, but my throat clamped shut. The wordnotried to escape from deep inside my chest. No, I was not all right, and I had not felt the true strain of everything that had happened until this very moment. I wanted to wrap my arms around Theodore and weep. I wanted to confess how horribly I missed him and tell him every monstrous thing I’d done. I wanted to believe he’d see past my offenses, still see me as worthy, and understand why.
Then I reminded myself it wouldn’t matter if he did.
The musicians started a waltz that warped around us through the dense air. He tilted his head at my silence. “Immy?”
“Please don’t call me that.”
His look turned stern, hurt.
“I’m…” I stared down at my bound hands. “I’m all right. I’m so tired.” I finally looked up into his eyes. “What is it you needed to say to me?”
His brows drew together. “I needed you to understand the circumstances of this… marriage.”
“I do.”
“Youdon’t.” He took a deep, livid breath. “I wrote you. The letter is still in the pocket of that dress. I made you a promise in it and it remains. If you still want me, whenever you might want me, I will cut myself open again—”
