Erik couldn’t speak. Couldn’t form words past the thick lump that had settled in his throat. He’d received gifts before—weapons from allies, tributes from defeated enemies, political gestures wrapped in expensive cloth. But no one had ever given him something like that. Something personal. Something that saidI see you.
“Erik?” Her voice had gone small. “If ye dinnae like it, I can?—”
“’Tis perfect,” he managed, his voice rougher than he’d intended. “Claricia, this is…”
The first gift I’ve ever received that meant somethin’. The first time anyone’s seen past the Wolf tae whatever’s underneath.
He set the painting carefully on the table, then pulled her against him—hard enough she made a small, surprised sound. His hand tangled in her hair, tilting her face up as he kissed her with everything he couldn’t say.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, he rested his forehead against hers.
“Thank ye,” he said simply.
“Ye really like it?”
“I love it.” The truth tasted strange on his tongue. “It’s the first gift I’ve ever received from a woman.”
She blinked. “What? Never?”
“Never.”
“Well…” A smile tugged at her mouth, that mischievous spark he loved igniting in her eyes. “Have ye at least received a gift from a man?”
The question startled a laugh from him—genuine and unexpected. “Aye, actually. But only one that meant somethin’.”
“Only one? What was it?”
Erik looked at her—this woman who’d been thrust into his life by a king’s decree, who’d fought him and challenged him and somehow made him want things he’d stopped dreaming of years ago. His wife. His gift.
“Ye,” he said simply. “The king gave meye,Claricia.”
Understanding dawned across her features. Then she laughed—bright and clear and absolutely devastating in its joy. “Ye’re comparin’ me tae a trinket?”
“Nay. I’m sayin’ ye’re the only gift that ever mattered.” He kissed her again, softer this time. He traced her cheekbone with his thumb. “Ye make me want tae be more than just the Wolf, little bird. Ye make me want tae be the man ye see when ye look at me.”
She kissed him then—and something shifted. What started soft turned hungry, desperate, as if they were both trying to prove the words they’d just spoken. Her hands fisted in his tunic, pulling him closer, and Erik growled low in his throat as he backed her toward the stone wall.
“Ach!” Her spine met cold granite with a soft gasp that he swallowed. His hands found her waist, then slid lower, grippingher hips as he pressed against her—letting her feel exactly what her kiss was doing to him.
“Erik,” she breathed against his mouth, and the sound of his name on her lips like that made something primal surge through him.
“Let me thank ye fer yer gift,” he murmured against her throat, feeling her pulse flutter beneath his lips. “Will ye let me?”
Her breath hitched. “Here? Now?”
“Aye.” He nipped at her collarbone. “Unless ye want me tae stop?”
“Dinnae yedare.”
Erik dropped to his knees before her, and the shocked gasp that escaped her throat sent a spike of desire straight through him. His hands slid beneath her skirts, finding the soft skin of her thighs, warm and trembling beneath his touch.
“Erik, what are ye—och…”
“Put yer leg over me shoulder, little bird,” he said, his voice gone rough. He held her weight against the wall, and felt her fingers tangle in his hair for balance. “Hold on tae me.”
Then he pushed her skirts up and Claricia shivered as his hot breath ghosted across her most intimate flesh.
A sharp knock at the door made them both freeze.
