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They’d entered the very back of the cave—an ample space, as old as time itself, with walls that loomed forty feet high. A spring sat in the cavern’s heart. The water looked like sleek glass.
“There,” Blanchette said, pointing at a sconce on the cave’s wall.
Rowan crossed the cave and hung the torch.
Blanchette stepped in front of the spring. Rowan followed her, then deftly worked the ties of her red riding cloak. Their eyes remained locked as he undid the ribbons, one after another. He peeled the fabric aside and let it pool at their feet. A blush seared her cheeks. Her damp, tousled curls clung to her back and the tops of her full breasts. Her hard nipples pushed at the fabric of her dress.
Coyly, she knotted her arms over her chest, but Rowan gently took her wrists and uncrossed them. “Let me see, Princess. You are so beautiful.”
His fingers, which were usually so agile and capable, appeared clumsy as he unlaced the wet material of his shirt. Blanchette felt his hot, unwavering gaze on her as he worked the ties, then pulled the material apart. His muscular chest glistened in the torchlight. Blanchette exhaled a long breath and clenched her fingers to stop from touching him. The fire’s light danced in his raven-black hair, bringing out bluish tones buried deep within.
His hands pulled away, and the white shirt fell to the floor in a puddle of fine silk.
“Time is a bit of a double-edged sword. Isn’t it?” She hadn’t meant to speak aloud, so her voice startled her. Rowan merely brought his fingers to the laces of his trousers, then shrugged off that material. A sly grin—a wolfish smile—spread across his full lips. He wore it well, and she felt her skin tighten in a way that wasn’t unwelcome.
But his smile turned sad as he said, “Yes. I wish it weren’t true. I wish time only healed wounds, but sometimes it festers them.”
Blanchette’s heart pounded like a war drum. And indeed, it felt like she was caught in an inward battle. She watched in trepidation as Rowan moved toward the edge of the spring, wearing only his smallclothes. He’d shed his boots as well.
He sank into the spring with a sharp groan. “Cold. Christ. But refreshing. Aren’t you going to join me, darling? That’s why you brought me here, is it not?”
Her fingers trembled as she pulled the dress’s white fabric over her head. Now she stood only in her smallclothes; her breath hitched at the fire in Rowan’s eyes. She watched with fascination as his gaze slid down her body, inch by painful inch, then came up again and settled on her eyes. Suddenly, the moment felt incredibly intimate—sharing this hidden secret with him, being with him all alone, nearly naked, the only light a torch that could wink out at any moment.
Yes, she admitted to herself, this is why she brought him here. Because he fascinated her. And frightened her. But the depths she’d glanced inside of him made her hunger to learn more.
To learn everything.
She stepped close to the spring, her nude feet whispering over the smooth stone floor.
She perched on the edge, a foot away from Rowan. He stretched out his massive arms on either side of his body so his fingers brushed her leg. She didn’t move, allowing his touch to linger. It burned where he touched. It was a pleasant, deep burn that lit a fire from his finger to her very core. Between her legs, her womanhood throbbed and grew wet.
The cold water shall be a welcomed respite.
Her bottom squirmed against the stone ground as she plunged into the spring. She gasped from the rush of cold, then scowled at Rowan’s booming laughter. It echoed, so it sounded like an army of his voice surrounded her.
She felt him watching her curiously. Then he shifted closer, making their bodies almost touch. With that small movement, everything seemed to go silent; even the waterfall hushed, and all she heard was the frantic beat of her heart. She tentatively traced her finger around his forearm, where the arrow had taken him months ago. He tensed, and his mesmerizing hazel eyes burned into her like wildfire.
“Does it still hurt?” she asked, her voice a small whisper that the walls amplified threefold. He visibly sucked in a breath, then let it out slowly. She moved her finger away, assuming she’d caused him pain. But he caught her wrist in midair and slowly brought her finger back to the ridge.
“No, it doesn’t hurt anymore. In fact…” His deep voice dropped several octaves, almost like he was telling her a secret. She leaned toward him, drawn to the pull of his voice so as not to miss a wonder or nuance. Their shoulders brushed together, and a tingling sensation took root between her legs. “It feels quite… good. All of this does.”
Being here with you, in this hidden cave… only us and this moment, forgetting the past, the heartache, and especially the future. That was what she heard. That was what her own inner voice echoed. She found herself nodding to that voice, and Rowan gave his wolfish grin as if he, too, could hear her thoughts and knew what she agreed to.
“Blanchette,” he whispered, the grin leaving his mouth. “I am tired. Tired of fighting. I’ve been fighting all my life, one battle after another. I fought for my father for years. For the king. And then I fought for vengeance. But this… it feels right, simply resting here, with you beside me.”
Something was building between them—an unspoken energy, a connection she felt in her bones.
Is this what desire feels like?
God… is this what falling in love feels like?
That thought scared her most of all. So long as that voice stayed silent, she was safe.
But this… it was positively dangerous.
Aye, I am playing games with a wolf.
Eighteen
