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“I don’t ever want to get out of bed again,” she murmured sleepily. “Montagne may be an arrogant arse, but he has excellent taste. This is the most comfortable bed I’ve ever slept in.”
“Perhaps because I’m in it.” He ran a hand over her soft hair, ruffling it slightly.
“I won’t argue.” She sighed, then looked up at him. “I suppose I have to rise soon. Ffoulkes will want to go over everything, and I should have Montagne show me the map one more time.”
“I wish you didn’t have to do this. It’s so dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” She ran a finger over the scar on his jaw. “All I must do is climb the Temple. Once I’m in, it will be easy. You have the more difficult task.”
He didn’t agree, but there was certainly no guarantee he would even be admitted or that the guards would believe his lies. “You know that if even one part of this plan goes awry, we are doomed.”
“Then we make certain we don’t fail. We are the king’s last hope.”
“I never thought I would risk my life for a noble.”
“I never thought I would trust a revolutionary.”
He propped himself on his elbow and looked down at her. “You trust me?”
“With my life.”
“Because you have no choice.”
“I always have a choice.” She feathered his hair back from his forehead. “The question is whether you trust me.”
“If anyone can climb the Temple, it’s you. I’ve seen you on the roofs—”
She put a finger over his lips. “That is not what I mean.”
His eyes searched hers.
“I mean, do you believe I won’t betray you?” she asked. “Do you believe I care for you? That I’ll protect you?”
“I don’t need you to protect me.”
“I don’t need you to protect me, either, but I believe you will. Iknowyou will.”
“I trust you,” he said.
She lifted a brow. “Prove it.”
“How?”
She rose, pushing him back on the pillow until she was looking down at him. And then he understood. Would he trust her to take the lead in bed, as she’d trusted him to do?
She leaned down to kiss him, moving over him. When he lifted his arms to hold her, she grasped his wrists, slid her hands to his fingers, and twined her fingers with his. He waited for the panic to seize him, for his chest to feel as though a vise tightened around it, for his breath to grow short and his throat to close.
None of that happened. Her skin was silky soft against his, her mouth tantalizing as she kissed him. And when she straddled him, the heat of her was impossibly arousing.
She looked down at him, clearly asking for permission as she settled his hard member at her opening. “Oui?” she whispered.
“God, yes.”
“You’re not uncomfortable?”
“I’m impatient.”
“You French are so impatient.”
