We both knew he wasn’t only talking about food. And I was running out of distractions.
“Did I wake you?” I asked.
His expression told me I had. “Don’t fash yourself over it,” he said. “Most warriors are light sleepers. Those who aren’t tend to wake with a sword at their neck. Or they simply never wake at all.”
My thoughts drifted to the cave, when I’d thought I was so smooth extracting myself from his and Albie’s arms. Tavish must have roused the moment I’d crawled from the bed of moss.
He said nothing now, but his mysterious little smile all but confirmed he’d guessed my thoughts. He gestured to the chronomancer’s bag on the counter.
“What are you doing in here with that?”
“Just thinking,” I said.
Tavish pushed away from the doorframe and stepped into the bathroom. The space immediately felt smaller. The scent of smoke, hotel soap, and a hint of whiskey swirled around me, the combination in no way unpleasant.
“Thinking about running,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
“I don’t know what I’m thinking,” I said truthfully. My mind was a jumble of impossible choices and frightening possibilities.
He kept coming—no, heprowled, and I turned, pressing the small of my back against the edge of the sink as he braced his hands on either side of my hips. He trapped me, his bulk blocking the door. Ordinarily, I could twist into smoke and slip around him, but my dragon stayed dormant, content to let him stand over me, his big, bare body throwing off more heat than a radiator.
“Maybe you should do less thinking,” he rumbled.
I snorted—and I tried to ignore the arousal pooling between my legs. “Says the man who eats dinner rolls off the floor.”
“It was on a plate, not the floor.” His breath fanned warm against my cheek. “But I’d gladly eat off the floor if it meant surviving long enough to keep you safe.”
My heart skipped a beat. “Safe from what?”
“From yourself, if need be.” He flicked a look at the bag on the counter. “I won’t let you go, Portia. I’ll follow you through time if I have to.”
The intensity in his gaze made me swallow hard. I tried to look away, but he caught my chin and forced my eyes back to his.
“I know you’re frightened,” he said, his voice softer now. “I can smell it on you. But running isn’t the answer.”
“I’m not running. But what if we’re doomed to stumble from one time to the next, never landing in the place we belong?”
“We belong together.” His voice was firm. Matter-of-fact. “That’s what matters.”
“But we’re from different times.”
“We’re in the same time right now.”
I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it. “Albie said something similar,” I said finally.
Pride warmed Tavish’s gaze. “Aye. My Albie is wise.” He leaned close and brushed the ghost of a kiss over my ear. “After this morning, he’s your Albie, too.”
My pulse quickened. “He’s not my anything.”
Tavish pulled back with a knowing, patient, infuriating smile. “That’s a lie, Princess. Your dragon knows it, and so do you.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It’s exactly that simple.” He stroked his thumb over my cheek, infinitely gentle. “We’ve found each other across time. Do you truly believe that’s coincidence?”
I didn’t. That was the problem.
Tavish tipped my chin up. “We can go round and round with this for as long as you please. But we both know we have to open that bag eventually. I’d rather do it with a few more hours of sleep under my belt.” His lopsided smile reappeared. “Even though I’m not wearing one.”
