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Then I shake my head. "I'd have to be crazy to agree to that."

"All right," Zarek says.

That's it. No argument. No pushing. No telling me I don't know what's good for me. He just turns his head back toward the ceiling, and that's the end of it.

The conversation's over.

My body didn't get the message.

Time passes. I don't know how much. I roll onto my side. Then onto my other side. I kick the blankets off. I get cold, then hot again, then pull them back up. I lie on my back and stare at the little candles along the beams, burned down to glowing nubs now. I count them. I lose count.

The ache gets worse. Sharper. Hungrier.

I'm miserable. I'm frustrated. I'm furious at myself for being miserable and frustrated. I'm the woman who climbed a mountain in a blizzard to get away from a husband I didn’t want, and now I can't lie still in a warm bed for one night.

Finally, I give up.

"Zarek?"

It comes out barely a whisper.

He turns his head.

"I might," I say. My face is burning. "I might actually want your help. Maybe."

For a heartbeat, he doesn't move.

Then he rolls onto his side, toward me. The firelight catches his face. His gray eyes search mine, serious and careful, like he's reading every bit of me.

He doesn't reach for me.

"Would you like to start with a kiss?" he asks. "Just a kiss. Then we'll see how you feel."

I nod. Then I remember he might not see it in the dark. "Yes."

Suddenly I'm nervous. Which is ridiculous, because I'm the one who asked. But my heart's going so fast I can hear it.

He moves closer. Slowly. So slowly. He props himself up on one elbow and leans over me, and I can see how carefully he's holding himself. Every muscle tight. Like he's afraid that if he moves too fast, I'll break.

Or he will.

His lips touch mine.

It's gentle. Barely more than a brush. Soft and warm and almost shy, which is the last thing I expected from a man like Zarek.

And something inside me lights up like the whole sky on solstice night.

Warmth rushes through me, head to toe. The heat is part of it. But there's something bigger underneath, stranger and sweeter, something I don't have a name for. I've been kissed before, a few clumsy times.

None of it was anything like this.

Zarek doesn't push. He just stays there, his mouth soft against mine, waiting.

So I kiss him back.

I reach up and slide my hand into his short dark hair, and he makes a sound low in his throat. He lets me pull him closer. He lets me decide how close. When I part my lips, he follows. When I press up into him, he gives a little more.

It feels so natural. So easy. Like I've been kissing him for years. For all his sternness, all his orders and frowns and rules, he's so tender with me. So careful.