Page 141 of A Thief Among Fae

“Won’t you be colder this way?” I ask him. He’ll be farther from the fire, even if we are sharing body heat.

“You’ll be warmer,” he murmurs, as if my comfort has always been more important than his own.

That tender remark leaves my thoughts hopelessly tangled. He wants to take care of me at the expense of his own comfort. Yet he’s never cared much for his own comfort, has he? Everything he does is for someone else. There isn’t a selfish bone in this man’s body.

How could I have been so wrong about him?

My throat feels too thick to speak. If I had been trapped in this chamber with him when we first met, I would’ve hated him for it. I was so blinded by bitterness every day of my life. I would’ve fought him as the water filled over our heads, and we would’ve drowned.

“We survived because of you,” I murmur. Not because he knew how to read the runes, but because his kindness and his selflessness have irrevocably changed me into someone who’s not afraid to depend on others.

“Because of me?” he asks, incredulous. Then a derisive laugh rumbles through him, self-loathing spidering through the bond. It squeezes me, suffocating me so hard I can barely breathe. “You wouldn’t have stepped foot in this tomb if it weren’t for me,” he says, his voice darkening.

“Desmond—” I choke out.

“If you had died,” he continues, his hands clenching into fists around me, “I never would’ve forgiven myself. Meeting me would’ve cost you your life.”

“Stop it!” I push against him, trying to cut away at the threads of pain spiraling out of him. Then I twist so I’m looking at him.

His gaze unfocuses, becoming haunted and far away as if he’s seeing that blazing forest and his friends limping behind him. His lip curls, and his face pinches with anger.

“Desmond!” I grab him, forcing him to meet my gaze. “Meeting you gave me the adventure I always wanted.”

He jolts, then looks at me with so much sadness, as if afraid that I’ll vanish right before his eyes. “You’ll have far greater adventures than this, Cynthia. This is only the beginning.”

I don’t know how he can say that. The time we have left together is sand slipping through my fingers. This tomb raid feels like nothing but the end.

He falls quiet. Then he strokes my cheek as though I’m the one who needs to be comforted. It always makes my chest tighten when he looks at me like this, as though he’s peering under my skin and bone to find every truth that lies beneath. No one else has ever seen me like he can.

“Besides,” I add, “I’ve never met anyone who shared my dream until you.”

A gentle smile warms his lips. “Never stop following your dream. Nothing can take it away from you. Not even fate.”

I press my answering smile against his lips.

He pulls back. “No.” His voice is tight as if saying it pains him.

This again? “Damn it, Desmond! I know we want each other.” I need to believe it so badly that I’m queasy with anxiety.

Why else would he have kissed me as though our lives depended on it? Why else would he have stared at my legs after undressing me? His rejection stings even worse now that we’ve finally kissed. Is that still not enough for him to give in?

My voice cracks with hurt as I ask, “Why are you still fighting this?”

He rests his chin atop my head so I can’t see his face. “What I want doesn’t matter.” It sounds hollow. Rehearsed.

I won’t let him close himself off. Not this time. “What are you so afraid of?” I demand. “That you’ll never see me again? Stop thinking of the future when all we have is right now. You’ve denied everything you want since the minute I met you, probably since the second you were born. Just for once in your life, reach for something and take it.”

I draw in a tight breath, then exhale, steadying myself. “Take me,” I beg him.

He tenses like there’s a war inside his body. As he leans down, his gaze drops to my lips, a muscle feathering in his jaw.

Please, I want to beg him. Please kiss me. Please want me, too.

His torn expression is that of a man standing at the edge of a cliff who knows the way down will destroy him and wants to jump anyway.

Then his thumb traces the curve of my bottom lip, and his eyes darken with heat.

I lean into the touch, pressing a kiss to his fingertip.