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He stood there, about to break, so vulnerable. I moved toward him, sliding my arm around his neck. His breath hitched. He didn’t move, as I rose onto my toes and ever so lightly brushed my lips across his cheek.
“Thank you for saving me from the baby making rain,” I whispered.
A breathy laugh rumbled out of him. I drew back, ready to make my escape without another glimpse of his tortured expression. The hallway had grown dark despite the windows.
He caught my hand, stopping me. I risked a glance.
The pain in his eyes had sparked to life and now burned with an undeniable heat. It struck me too, in my chest, a fire that caused a steady ache.
Dagda was honorable, and good, and kind. There were too many secrets between us. Too much he didn’t know about me. If he really knew who I was…
“Chels,” he said, his voice ragged. “I—”
“I will see you tonight at dinner, Dagda.” I pulled my hand from his grasp and left him there, standing in the dimly lit hallway, the sounds of the Red Rain rattling the window panes.
Chapter 24
DinnerwithDagdathatnight was filled with a different kind of tension. The long table of the dining room felt strangely intimate. For some reason, I kept thinking about how he had saved me from the Red Rain, how his laughter had rolled out of him when I’d thanked him, at the heat and longing in his gaze as he’d gripped my hand. And then there was that damn kiss. My god, it was just a peck. I’d kissed plenty of boys before Dagda. Why was this one making me feel as if I’d willingly drag my tongue across Ornan’s feet for another?
A guilt lingered. I shouldn’t be dwelling on such things. And yet, I stared at his hands as we ate in near silence, thinking about how I looked forward to having them on my body as he conducted his nightly search.
When we finished, I walked to the door, and he stood, holding it for me as I passed through.
“I shall see you tonight, Chels.” His voice was low and tight. Warm desire twisted in my stomach so suddenly I touched my abdomen and struggled to catch my breath. I glanced up at Dagda, and he looked almost embarrassed as he shut the door. The feeling vanished as abruptly as it appeared.
A few hours later, he came to my room. Roisin stepped out, as was her habit whenever he showed up. I sat on the bed, already dressed in my nightgown, ready to hear Dagda’s latest tragic love story.
I didn’t sense that emotion he’d left me with at dinner, but there was an unsteadiness in his movements. A reluctance mixed with a wanting. A long navy blue tunic spanned over his broad shoulders, offset by dark trousers. He ran a hand over his strong, shadowed jaw. Then paused next to my bedpost and stared at me.
I sank down, spreading out on the soft covers. “I’m ready.” This time, the words came out differently than I’d ever said them. Like a temptation.
Dagda didn’t move. But then he took a tentative step. He sat on the bed without searching me, lifting his long legs onto the comforter. I blinked at him in surprise.
He cast me a gentle smile. “I trust you, Chels.”
I focused on the ceiling, swallowing the emotion that suddenly clouded my vision. He didn’t know how precious few times I’d heard those words in my life.
When I’d chosen to sleep with Mark, I’d done so because it was easy to hide, because he was a playboy, because I could end it whenever I wanted. Dagda had waited years for me. The level of dedication, the level of faith and trust that must have taken, blew me away.
I reached out and brushed my fingertips over his knuckles.
“Search me anyway.” My words were soft and husky.
The heat from earlier that day in the hallway returned to his eyes.
“If you wish,” he murmured.
The bed creaked, and the covers wrinkled under his movements as he knelt on the mattress at my feet. This time, as his hands started up my legs, they moved slower. My breaths came shallow at his roving fingers. Maybe because this time, he wasn’t doing it out of necessity. Maybe because he pressed a little more firmly than usual. I shut my eyes as his palms worked their way up my body, to my inner thighs, to my hips, up my stomach. My gown bunching, and him massaging it back into place. When he reached my breasts, he hesitated. Instead of his fingers moving around them on their normal trajectory, they rubbed over them, cresting and falling. The air in my lungs became tremulous.
His touch moved over my arms and when he arrived at my hands, he took them, twining his fingers with mine. I opened my eyes to discover him gazing down, his legs on either side, straddling me. That heat in his expression intensified to the point my mouth went dry.
I licked my lips, and his head dropped closer, as if he wanted to be part of the solution.
“Did you find everything to your liking, King Dagda?” I asked.
“Almost.” He said softly. He released a hand to cup my chin and stroked a thumb along my bottom lip. “There is one more place I should wish to check. To be safe.”
His thumb grazed back and forth. A gentle tug, a relentless question.
