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I felt every inch of him.

Every.

Delicious.

Inch.

He eased away and kept on moving, carrying me back to his wing. The room was dark. The air cold. I shivered, pressing harder against him. He lowered me to the bed.

“Let me start a fire.”

I sank into the bedding. Grabbing his pillow to hug as he moved away. He was soundless in the darkened room. The knock of wood. The strike of a match. I watched his face lighten with the flare. I couldn’t look away. Those pale eyes staring into nothing as the kindling ignited and the fire took hold.

I dragged the pillow from me and rose from his bed.

Then he turned.

His head followed my movement.

I froze.

No…

I swore.

He saw me.

“You cancelled a meeting,” I murmured.

“No.”

I stopped in front of him. “Liar.”

The tight catch at the corner of his mouth said it all.

“You’re wearing my shirt.” He tried to sound hard.

I pressed my body against his. “And what are you gonna do about that?”

He didn’t know what to say.

The fire crackled.

Heat brushed my skin.

I licked my lips. Focused. Bent my bad leg and gripped his waist. He scowled as I lowered myself slowly to the floor. My grip tightened as agony moved deep.

“Stop.”

He searched my gaze, the crease between his brows deepening.

Then—

He bent, gathered me into his arms, and lifted me as though I weighed nothing.

“Not like this,” he said quietly. “If you choose this, little one… you don’t hurt yourself for me.”

He carried me to the sofa, lowering me until I sank into the soft cushions, then he straightened. One hand cupped my cheek as I lowered my gaze and reached for his belt.