I wetted my dry lips. “He was lying. He didn’t know if I’d recognise Madden.”
“I know,” Reagan murmured.
“The scar on his face…” I swallowed. “How did he get that?”
Reagan moved closer. “The first time I saw Varian after he confessed to Ashenagth’s court, he said he fell on something sharp. It was an accident. Or at least, that’s what he tells people now.”
The scar crossed his cheek, similar to the one Caius had carved into mine, but longer. It looked like a wound not mended by a healer.
My breath steadied as I leaned against the wall, contemplating Reagan. “Not that much restraint, then.”
A subtle cedar wind brushed over me like a caress, easing the nausea.
“Believe me,” Reagan murmured, a hint of rueful warmth in his voice, “that’s more restraint than you think.”
A quiet exhale left me.
Reagan’s hand rose, fingers cupping the back of my neck until he tilted my head to meet his gaze. “I want to take you somewhere.”
“I’m too tired.”
“It won’t take long. I’ll bring you to the infirmary after, if you want.” His thumbs brushed my cheeks so gently that I nodded just to keep the contact.
Warmth spread through me as Reagan’s gaze stayed fixed on my face, penetrating and troubled.
Just then, I became aware of my own want, stirring to life as if from some dormant sleep. The last days had been a blur, full of worry and uncertainty to leave room for anything else. But now,with him holding me as though I were the centre of his world, I wanted him, needed him. Needed to draw that impossible sense of safety from him.
He gave a crooked smile, eyes drifting over my clothes. The maroon undershirt, the dark green skirt. “How about some air, Jane love?”
He spoke so easily, so naturally, like he had no doubt in his mind. Reagan’s love felt like a rare kind of reverence. And perhaps that was why I dreaded letting him see more of my weaknesses.
He slid an arm around my back, bracing us to fling. I set my hands on his broad shoulders, level with my head, and looked up at him from too close a distance, at the hard planes of his face. I lifted a finger to trace the line of his jaw, as slowly and steady as my pulse was now.
“Jane, don’t look at me like that,” he murmured.
My lips parted. “Like what?”
“Like you can’t decide which part of me you want to touch. Like a minx.”
I blinked, my mouth curving despite myself. “A minx? Really?”
“Yes,” he said with a low chuckle, leaning closer. “You’re looking at me and licking your lips like you want to be kissed.”
“Is that what I’m doing?” I asked. “Maybe you’re seeing what you want to see.”
Everything else fell away. There was only the warmth of his body, the weight of his attention. The gleam in his eyes told me he noticed exactly how easily I would welcome the distraction.
“Perhaps, I’m just desperate for you to look at me like that.” His mouth brushed my ear. “I’m hoping you’re trying to seduce me.”
There was no more nausea, no more effects of the liquor. Only him and the warmth coiling low in my stomach.
“If I wanted to seduce you,” I whispered, “I would do this.”
I rose onto my toes, brushing my mouth against the hollow of his throat. My lips traced the line of his neck, tasting him. He always tasted the same, woody and warm and unmistakably masculine.
Reagan drew me closer with a sharp inhale. “You should be careful with that,” he said, his voice rough and low. His ice-blue eyes gleamed with equal parts amusement and hunger as my hands slid over his chest.
“Careful?” I echoed.
