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‘Yes.’
It broke the mood. Thirio stepped sideways, bending down to pick up the dropped tarpaulin, carrying her corner to the other side of the window and reaching up to secure it. She watched his back as he worked, muscles rippling. Desire tightened the walls of her stomach.
‘There.’ He turned back to face her, his eyes guarded. ‘Happy now?’
She wasn’t. She was fighting a wave of frustration, and the more she fought it, the more it gnawed at her gut.
‘You’re wet,’ she remarked softly, rather than answering his question.
He lifted a hand to his chest, pressing it to the rain-splashed skin. ‘I’ll dry.’
She couldn’t look away. She wanted him. She wanted him to kiss her, to touch her, she wanted him to take her to bed and make her his in every way. The thought seared her like a lightning bolt. Never in her life had she known such immediate and impulsive desire.
‘Thirio.’ She said his name then frowned. What she wanted was to issue an invitation, but insecurities she fought so hard to keep at bay reared their heads. He’d already rejected her once, after all.
‘Go to bed, Lucinda.’ His eyes closed and, for the briefest second, she was sure she saw something strangling his features, something she suspected to be desire. Temptation. ‘Now.’
She stood her ground, watching him to see what he would do next. He opened his eyes, realised she wasn’t moving and then shook his head slowly. ‘Fine, have it your way.’ He began to walk, his stride long, and she held her breath, waiting, fingers crossed. But he walked right past her, down the hallway, and into his own room.
Disappointment was a physical ache in the pit of her stomach, the rejection thick and immovable in her soul.
There was nothing for it but to try to sleep, and somehow blot him from her mind.
‘Christos.’Thirio tolerated his own room for all of five minutes before throwing back the covers in resignation. The whole level of the castle had been transformed into an ice box. In the time the window was broken, and uncovered, every ounce of warmth had been sucked out, replaced by the arctic air that howled across the Alps. For his own part, he could live with it, but he was conscious of Lucinda in the room just across from his and, for many reasons, he didn’t want to subject her to several hours longer in the ice-cold room.
He wrenched open his door, closing the distance between his room and hers, a scowl on his face. He hovered outside her room, strangely uncertain, until he thought of how frigid it was and how freezing she must be, and raised his hand to thump on the door.
‘Yes?’ Her voice came to him as if from far away. He hesitated a moment, hand on the doorknob, and that unusually tentative gesture brought something like a smile to his face. Since when did Thirio hesitate about anything?
‘I’m coming in.’
‘Okay.’ Again, her voice was distant. When he cracked open the door, he could see why, and his instincts were immediately vindicated. She was huddled under the covers, so that only her eyes peeked out, her flaxen blonde hair like a messy crown. Something kicked in his gut, hard.
‘It’s too cold to sleep here. Come downstairs.’
‘What’s downstairs?’
‘A fireplace, for one.’
She hesitated, but given the choice between a fridge-like room and the lure of a working fire, she wisely chose the latter.
She pushed back the cover, but when she stood, she drew it with her, wrapping it around her shoulders. The cape might have helped keep her warm but it did little to cover her legs, and it was impossible not to let his eyes flicker lower, just for a moment. It didn’t help. Tension wound through him, building in the pit of his stomach, tighter than a spring. He had to conquer this.
Soon, she’d leave. He only had to be strong for a little while longer.
Almost as soon as he’d had the thought, a lightning bolt speared the sky. She flinched, her small gasp doing strange things to his insides. He glanced over his shoulder then wished he hadn’t when their eyes met and the air between them charged with electricity.
So much for ignoring her.
He could tolerate her though, and the spark they shared. Just so long as she didn’t start talking to him about Evie’s wedding, and the preposterous idea of hosting it here. Just so long as she didn’t look at him with those amber eyes, and pouting lips. Just so long as she didn’t lean close, and breathlessly ask him to kiss her again.
