Page 60 of The Exquisite Torment of Loving Your Enemy

It shouldn’t have mattered that he stood so close to her, but it did. Aurienne’s wine-warm face felt even warmer. Then it went hotter still, because he leaned into her and, with a deep inhale, pressed his face into her hair. She shivered.

“Thief,” said Mordaunt.

“Pardon?”

His hot breath was at her ear. “You used my shampoo. Did you think I wouldn’t notice? Itdoessmell good on you—almost enough for me to forgive you.”

Her back brushed his chest, and her arse touched the front of his trousers, and there was the friction of satin on twill. He was still hard.

She fought the urge to lean into him. “I shall pay you back.”

“No,” said Mordaunt.

“No? You always want money.”

Mordaunt made no answer. Aurienne turned to him. She found him unsmiling.

He said, “Don’t presume to know what I want.”

Silence lay heavy between them.

Aurienne, unsure of what answer to make, turned to the prospect that unfolded before them. The moon’s reflection in the water, liquid-brilliant, gilded the lake in divinity. Bats swooped by in flitters of witch whispers.

A breeze made her shiver. Mordaunt’s gaze flicked downwards, to where her nipples were no doubt visible. He turned away with a sort of clench-jawed politeness.

“Are the stars spinning, or have I had too much to drink?” he asked.

“A little,” said Aurienne. “The moon’s got the common courtesy of remaining fixed.”

“Look at her,” said Mordaunt. “Bright. Remote. Untouchable.” Every word came with a breath that tickled at Aurienne’s ear. He paused before adding, “Reminds me of someone.”

Aurienne, looking up at the serene moon, couldn’t let this inaccuracy go uncorrected.

“I’m not,” she said.

“What?”

Aurienne regarded his hand on the rail with tipsy focus: the veins, the signet ring on the index finger, the knuckles crossed with fine white scars.

She put her hand next to his and looked up. Her mouth was an inch from his. Within kissing distance—not that that was a useful unit of measurement.

“I’m not untouchable,” she said. “You’ve lifted me up a cliff. You’ve held me in the shadow-walk. We’ve slept in the same bed.”

“That was circumstance, not your volition,” said Mordaunt.

A taut silence fell. Tension carved out a triangle of shadow at Mordaunt’s jaw.

He drew his hand away from hers.

“A minute ago you asked me to sit on you,” said Aurienne.

“That was because I knew you wouldn’t.”

“The safety of the impossible?”

Mordaunt’s thumb found his signet ring and pushed it in a circle. “I’m a coward, too.”

Aurienne, attempting to lighten the mood, edged her hand nearer to his.