Page 76 of A Match Made in Error

He turns to look at me, raw emotion painted across his face. “No.” A beat. “It wore off a few minutes ago.” My pulse roars in my ears. Why did he say that? Why confess that if he didn’t have to? Was it because he didn’t want me to be embarrassed and vulnerable alone?

I hesitate until his face contorts with barely restrained emotion. This. This is why he holds himself back from anything real. Why he prefers to skim only the surface and hide behind jokes. My hand reaches for his, slow but deliberate, and I slide my fingers into his.

His hand is warm and rough with well-earned calluses.

He stiffens for half a second—then laces our fingers together like he’d been waiting for me to do this.

“Your darkness doesn’t scare me,” I whisper, but since the truth serum is wearing off, I am able to hold back what I think next. It’s losing you that does.

Something shifts. Not physically, but energetically.

We’re still pressed together on one chaise, listening to the lapping ocean water. In the distance, we hear the violent caw of the kraken. I shiver against the dropping sea breeze, and Riven’s response is to pull me in and rub a gentle swirling pattern across my hand with his thumb.

I shift closer without meaning to. My thigh brushes his. His hand, still holding mine, drifts away, stopping at my hip, right where my skin meets the band of my pants. Heat licks up my core, and a soft sigh slips from between my lips when I push my hip into his hand.

Poppy, what are you doing?

But it’s like I can’t help myself.

Riven freezes. Every muscle in him seeming to lock.

His voice drops, controlled but strained. “Careful. I’m trying very hard to be good, but a beautiful woman telling me that she wants me is about as much testing as my self-control can take.”

My eyes close.

There it is. He thinks it’s only physical. That I want him only carnally and not in every way possible and then some.

Despite his verbal warning, he pulls me tight against him and lets his other hand dip to the small of my back.

My lips curve.

No.

I can’t take this. Can’t do this. If I do, I will combust.

He just got done telling me why he never falls in love. Why he never takes things seriously.

But maybe I can enjoy it while it lasts.

“You’re never good.” My teasing words are like fuel, and I feel him move nearer, if that is even possible.

His breath ghosts over my neck.

His lips not touching, but almost.

“With you in my arms,” he murmurs, voice rougher now, “I don’t want to be.”

My stomach flips, heat pooling low and sharp.

My brain scrambles for safety, reminding myself of the truth I have grappled with since we were brought to this love-forsaken island.

Lust.

It’s just lust.

That’s all he does.

I snort softly when his rough palm tickles the bare skin of my hip, trying to puncture the intensity. Trying to make it playful.