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"Oh," he said, reaching over to stroke the back of my wrist with one finger, "I think that could not be further from the truth."
I gazed at him wide-eyed. His skin on mine was electrifying, a thousand nerves ignited by the contact of one square centimeter, and it was as though I could feel the scrape of his incisors at my throat. My heart was pounding. He looked almost dangerous, gazing at me with those intense gold-flecked eyes, but thrillingly so—like climbing onto the back of a stallion that hasn't quite been tamed.
I was going to tell him. It was either tell him or kiss him, and I had a feeling that I was in no way ready for whatever fallout a kiss would provoke.
I licked my lips and forced my gaze away from his. "I've been sleepwalking," I said.
He slid his hand up my arm as he leaned toward me. His thumb came to rest at the crease of my elbow, and I took a little breath, momentarily losing my train of thought. "That's very distracting," I managed to say.
His thumb moved a little, making tiny, lazy circles. I clamped my teeth on my tongue to keep from moaning outright.
"Shall I stop?" he murmured, eyebrows raised.
I shut my eyes. "I didn't say that."
"Then please," he said, his fingers still stroking, "continue."
It took an enormous amount of concentration, but I made the words come. "I think—something's wrong. People have been dreaming about me."
He laughed softly. "This does not surprise me."
"Please," I heard myself say, and his hand slid higher, gliding in irregular patterns over my upper arm. I shuddered. "That's not what I meant."
His voice was low, husky. "Explain."
"I think they're—" I gasped when I felt his lips on my wrist. "I think they're nightmares. The same nightmare. And I feel like I—"
I broke off, momentarily unable to continue as he trailed his tongue up the sensitive skin of my inner arm. I tipped my head back, eyes still closed, and spoke to the ceiling, my words coming between ragged breaths. "I feel like I'm—there, but not there. And it all started after—after I found the book."
I felt him tense, felt the movement of his lips and hands cease. "I thought the book was found by the group," he said after a moment, his voice a little sharper.
Don't stop, I wanted to say, but instead I shook my head. "I lied."
For one breathless second, I thought he would pull away, but instead, he resumed his slow ascent. "What happened?" he murmured against my shoulder.
"I—" I moved a little closer to him, shifting to feel the scrape of his stubble against my collarbone. "I opened the box. The night before."
He groaned into the curve of my neck, sending bolts of lightning through my entire body. I was gripping the edge of the table so tightly that my fingers were starting to go numb.
"And what did you see?"
"The book." I arched into him. His hand splayed on my waist, drawing me toward him. "It looked different. New—not like—not like it was—" I gasped.
"And then?"
The movement of his lips on my throat was enough to make me see stars. "Light," I whispered, "Something—something happened."
"Something," Luca murmured, and then I felt his lips parting, felt his tongue swirl across the hollow of my collarbone. I did moan then, my hand coming up off the table to tangle in his hair.
"Heat," I said, "there was heat—and it scared me, so I put the book back and—" I broke off, hissing at the sudden sharp pressure of his teeth at my pulse. More. I wanted more—
He was pulling away.
I opened my eyes in dismay, mortification already curdling in my stomach, but the expression on his face stilled all my apprehension. He was looking at me like no one in my life had—as though he wanted to rip my clothes off right then and there, in the middle of the kitchen. So why had he stopped?
"I think," he said, his voice low, "that you are correct."
My hand slid from his hair to the back of his neck, and I let it fall into my lap. "What do you mean?" I asked.
