Even in the dim light, I can see his wide-eyed, open-mouthed expression.
He slowly shakes his head. “I am fine,kjære.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means beloved to my people.”
“It’s beautiful,” I say slowly.
He reaches out almost hesitantly and touches his fingers gently to my face. His fingers are warm. “Sleep, little one,” he says in a gruff voice.
The room dims further. I struggle against the darkness and realise that I’m in a starlit sea, swimming up from a great depth. Light is above me, and I kick my feet strongly, launching out of the water with a gasp. I open my eyes and I’m in Sigurd’s bedroom. The room is lit only by the faint moonlight coming in through the window. Sigurd is asleep, turned away from me, his hair flowing over his pillow, his strong back and shoulders relaxed. I can hear his soft, even breaths.
“What a weird dream,” I mumble.
I shiver slightly and inch up next to him. His big body radiates heat like a furnace, and I snuggle in. He stirs slightly and mumbles something in his own language, but he stays asleep, and I feel it tugging me under once more.
Weird dream, I think again, and then fall asleep.
Chapter Four
I come awake to a lovely smell—sugar and bacon. My nose wrinkles, and I open my eyes, blinking at the bright light. My mouth curls into an involuntary grin when I see Sigurd. He’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, his hair caught back in a ponytail, some strands loose and catching on his sharp cheekbones. He’s dressed in jeans that are worn white with age and a black jumper that looks very soft. I have the strangest sense he’s been watching me sleep.
“Alright?” I ask, my voice morning-rough.
His face twists into a funny expression. “You know me?” he asks hesitantly.
I blink. “Erm, yes. I haven’t got that bad a memory to forget the man who railed my mouth last night.”
He gives me a crooked smile that’s laced with the usual charm but perhaps a trace of caution too. He licks his lips, and the sight of the pink tongue and those sinfully full lips makes my breathing pick up.
He looks up sharply, and our gazes catch and hold. That same potent hunger rises in me, and it’s surprising enough to make me freeze.
“Cary?” he says. “You are okay?”
I shake my head, the heat running fierce in my blood. I want to kiss him again. I want to lie back in this big bed and have him over me, pushing into me. I want to spread my legs for him and feel his hot breath on my skin.
What is happening to me? The way things ended with Adrian had reinforced my belief I was no good at relationships. It’s been as inevitable as the dawn following the night—no matter how nice the bloke was, the urge to be gone after a hookup was bone-deep.
“Cary?” He's looking worried now, no doubt concerned that he’s got a nutter in his bed.
“I’m fine?” I say hoarsely. “Just waking up.”
He relaxes. “You slept well,elskling?”
That endearment again. I like it more than I should.
“Very well.” I push my tumble of hair out of my eyes and squint at the bed. There’s a big tray sitting there, the apparent source of the nice smell. “Is that breakfast?” I say, breaking the funny silence.
“Yes. I did not know what you liked, so I made a little of everything.”
We both look down at the huge platter of bacon and eggs that’s sharing space with croissants, jam, toast and marmalade, a sausage sandwich, pancakes, and a delicious-looking rice dish.
“And is Cornwall suffering a food shortage now?” I ask.
He laughs and shakes his head, his humour obviously directed at himself. “I wanted to have you break your fast in the best way.”
Such a formal way of speaking. I smile at him, charmed. “It was a lovely thing to do. Thank you. Usually, I only have a cup of tea and toast.”
