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“Rune …” His breath was warm against her throat. “Do you want to go back?”
“Back?” she murmured.
“To the party.” His fingers traced down her neck and across her collarbone. “Your guests will wonder where we are.”
He was giving her an escape if she wanted it.Like a gentleman.
The thought startled her.
She shook her head. “Let them wonder. Unless …”
Rune pulled back a little, peering into his face. She saw now that his eyes weren’t black, but a deep, dark brown. “Doyouwant to go back?”
He gave her an incredulous look. “And do what? Make conversation with Bart Wentholt?” He scowled. “I have more stimulating conversations with my horse.”
It was so unexpected—Gideon Sharpe, making a joke—that a laugh burst out of Rune.
He let go of her hand, falling quiet. When her giggling subsided, she looked over to find a thoughtful expression on his face.
“Your laugh is like a fuse,” he said. “It lights you up.”
Rune’s heart thudded. No one had ever told her that before.
He doesn’t mean it.
Gideon Sharpe was a cold, heartless murderer. Not a softhearted suitor. He played the same game she did, and was more skilled at it than she’d thought.
Fear nipped at her.
Perhaps bringing him here had been a mistake.
Her gaze trailed over him: the broadness of his chest and shoulders, the corded muscles in his arms, the shadow of soon-to-be stubble darkening his cheeks. He was so much bigger than her. If he wanted to, he could easily lift her from this seat and carry her to the bed.
Rune froze.
Where hadthatthought come from?
She reached for the cup of wine, a little shaky, no longer caring about the spell it carried—she was already enchanted—and took another sip, careful to conceal the bottom with her cupped hands. She needed to calm her nerves. Their eyes locked over the lip of the cup, and Rune slowly lowered the wine into her lap.
As if knowing the effect he had on her, Gideon leaned in. Again, he lingered. Touching his temple to hers, running the backs of his fingers tenderly up her arm. Her skin blazed in his wake. His touch was stronger than the drink, pulling her under.
How is he so good at this?
Rune closed her eyes, trying to stay in control. “How much time do you have?”
“My next shift starts at dawn.”
His witch-hunting shift,she told herself. Emphasis on thewitch-hunting.
When his thumb stroked the line of her jaw, Rune had to bite down on a whimper. It was almost as if he were a weapon specifically designed to compromise her.
“Hunting anyone in particular?” she asked.
“Perhaps.” His breath was hot on her neck.
“Who?”
He paused. “Why do you want to know?”
