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He chuckled.
She shook her head, her ears straining to pick up any sound that might give her a hint of what waited around the next bend in the path. All she heard was the chirp and buzz of insects, and low croaks of frogs. Then, she heard a trickle of water.
They rounded the corner and Clare’s breath caught. A small clearing had opened at the end of the path, and a stream of crystalline water cut through the clearing and disappeared into the thick foliage beyond. The water glistened in the moonlight as it rolled over the smooth stones in the winding creek bed, the soft burbling sound incredibly peaceful. A stone bench was positioned near the water’s edge, and wild, tropical flowers brought bursts of color even in the dim light of the moon. It was secluded, beautiful, and absolutely perfect.
“Bennick,” she breathed. “This is . . .”
He squeezed her hand. “I know.” He leaned in and pressed his lips to her temple.
Her heart swelled and she smiled up at him. “Thank you for this.”
“You’re welcome. Though I have to admit, I had selfish reasons for wanting to find a place we could escape to.”
Clare looked around the clearing once more, and she slowly shook her head. “It feels like a place from a dream. It’s too beautiful to be real.” She twisted to face him fully, which put her back to the stream. Peering up at his moonlit face, seeing the love in his eyes, made her own sting. “I don’t know how you’re mine.”
His eyes softened. His fingers touched her chin, keeping her eyes on him. “I wonder the same thing every time I look at you, Clare.”
Those words melted her. She set a hand against his chest to steady herself, and it was instantly covered by his own.
Pinning her palm against his heart, she felt his heartbeat quicken just before his head angled down and he kissed her.
His lips against hers were firm but gentle, and her pulse skipped as she returned the kiss. Her fingers curled into his jacket, urging him closer, her free hand untangling from his so she could cradle his bristled jaw. It felt harder than the stone statues she’d admired all afternoon, yet this man was real—warm and strong and hers to touch.
The cloak draped over Bennick’s arm slipped to the ground, but neither of them spared the pool of fabric a glance. His free hand drifted up her spine and she leaned into him, her fingers on his jaw moving to grip the back of his neck. His sandy blond hair felt like silk beneath her fingers.
He kissed her like she was air—something he needed to survive. Her blood rushed and every part of her heated. Their bodies were pressed together and they shared every breath. Their mouths gave and took, explored and remembered. Every touch from Bennick was like a brand on her soul. Everything about him called out to her.
Her skin tingled from his touch. Her heart pounded against his body. Her fingers tangled in his hair, his clothes—she couldn’t stop touching him.
She had no idea how much time had passed before he groaned and pulled his lips from hers. Immediately, he buried his face in the curve of her neck, holding her close. “Fates,” he rasped. “This is torture.”
“Torture?” That was certainly not the wordshewould have chosen.
His laugh was short and strained. “Fates, yes. Every time I stop kissing you, it kills me.”
Her arms shifted to wrap around his shoulders, and she felt every heavy breath he took. “Perhaps you shouldn’t ever stop,” she whispered.
Hot breath huffed against her neck, lifting all the fine hairs on her body. “I don’t want to. But we’ve been gone too long. Venn will worry.”
“Venn is probably enjoying his time alone with Vera,” Clare pointed out.
“You’re probably right,” he said. But he didn’t resume kissing her.
It was probably wise of him, since she seemed to forget everything when she kissed him. And there were some things she couldn’t afford to forget—like why they needed to be careful, even when they were alone. Some lines could not be crossed. Not when they were already walking a treasonous line.
She rested her forehead against his shoulder, her breaths gradually steadying as they just held each other and breathed.
“I have an odd request,” he said suddenly.
Intrigue sparked in her chest. “What?”
He gently pulled back so their eyes could meet. “I know this isn’t the best place, but . . . Clare Ellington, will you dance with me?”
A surprised chuckle escaped her. “What?”
“I want to dance with you,” he said. “I’ve had to watch you dance with other men for far too long, and I want my chance. It might help me keep my sanity at the Hassan’s ball.”
The corner of her mouth twitched. Her hands slid down his arms and stopped behind his elbows. “I would love to dance with you, Captain Markam.”
