“As it so happens, I know just how to put him to sleep.”
Séverin looked up at her, and for the first time, the haze in his eyes had subsided somewhat. She sank into his lap, and his body stiffened beneath hers. In her mind, she ignored what she was doing. But her body noticed. Every part of her remembered and catalogued the hardness of his muscle, sinewy and lean from daysspent working alongside L’Eden’s workers for various installations; the heat that rose off his skin despite being in a palace of ice; and the faint scent of cloves that he could never get out of his garments.
“Put your hands on me,” she whispered in his ear.
Séverin glanced at his limbs, his jaw clenching slightly.
“I cannot,” he said, the words halting as if it took effort to fight the sedative. Séverin tilted his head forward, his lips at her ear. “If you want my hands on you, Laila, you’ll have to do it yourself.”
So she did.
The whole rhythm of their movements—of sinking against him, draping one arm around his neck—took up only a couple of seconds, and yet time felt slow as poured honey. Séverin’s hand seemed heavy and burning, and when she placed it at her waist, his fingers dug into her skin. His brows knitted together, as if touching her physically hurt him. Laila almost forgot why she’d done this at all until she heard someone clearing their throat. At the entrance to the suite, Ruslan was practically shoving Eva out of the room.
“Until the morning, then,” he said.
“Yes,” said Eva, her eyes on Séverin. “The morning.”
Laila waited until the door of their chamber closed. She held her breath, all too aware of how close they were, how the hair curled at the nape of his neck was damp… the pressure of his fingers at her waist. She immediately slid off his lap.
“Tell me what everyone saw in the ice grotto,” demanded Séverin haltingly.
Laila quickly filled him in on all they had discussed. As she spoke, she watched as his fingers slowly curled and uncurled, movement returning to him. When she was finished, he said nothing except: “Tomorrow morning, we go back.”
After a few minutes, he flexed his hands. “It’s finally wearing off.”
Soon after, he rose and disappeared into the adjacent bath suite. A rush of foolish nerves hit Laila as she walked to the bed. He would be here. With her. All because of an impulsive oath she’d wrung out of him.
You have just agreed to spend every night in my bed.
A low rustle of movement across from her made her head snap up. Séverin stood on the opposite side. He hadn’t changed out of the supple, dark silk nightclothes, and she saw that the color shifted from indigo to black. It matched his eyes, though she wished she hadn’t noticed. He looked at her and raised one eyebrow.
“You must want it very badly,” he said.
Laila jolted. “What?”
“The Divine Lyrics,” said Séverin coolly. “You must want it very badly if this is what you’ll put yourself through.”
But the corner of his mouth twitched up. It was the ghost of his former self pushing up against this new, ice exterior.Stop haunting me, she pleaded silently.
“Of course I want the book,” she said.
“Yes, I know,” said Séverin flippantly. “For the purpose of discovering your origins, etcetera…”
Laila smiled grimly. He had no idea that her life hung in the balance. He didn’t deserve to know.
“… or perhaps it was all an excuse to get me here,” added Séverin with a cruel smirk.
She could have wrung his neck. “I didn’t need an excuse last time.”
If he’d meant to taunt her, to push her farther away, he’d misstepped. And judging by the look on his face, he knew it. So she went in for the kill. She wanted him to flinch again. She wanted any ghost of his former self to retreat so far inside that fistful of snow he called a heart that she would never be reminded of how much he had changed. She crawled onto the bed, rising up on her knees, watching as his eyes narrowed.
“Remember that last evening in your study? You said yourself I was not real, Séverin,” she taunted, enjoying how he flinched. “You could always rediscover that for yourself.”
She reached for him, knowing she’d gone too far the second he caught her wrist. He stared at his fingers encircling her skin.
“I know you’re real, Laila,” he said. His voice was a poisonous silk. “I merely wish you weren’t.”
He let go of her hand then shut the gossamer curtains. Laila watched him retreat to the armchair. It took a few moments before she realized he wouldn’t return. Good, she thought, easing herself into the large, empty bed.Exactly what I want.
