“I don’t share women,” he said. “This isn’t about sharing, or stealing. In my experience, no woman is spoken for until she says she is. It’s her choice—not mine, not Oak’s, not anyone’s but hers.” He rose so that he was standing over me, his eyes never leaving mine. “So the question is, butterfly, are you spoken for or not?”
22
A Night with a Rogue
AmIspokenfor?
It was a simple question—and a fair one, I supposed—but it still tangled my insides in all sorts of knots.
Yes, I’d kissed Octavian, and yes, it was absolutely the best kiss I’d ever experienced in my life, but was that enough to consider my heart “claimed”? I hardly knew Octavian, and despite the kindness he’d shown me—and the way he’d risked his life for me over the last couple of days—any feelings I had for him were surface-level at this point. No promises had been made between us—and for good reason, as he’d always planned to return here and never see me again.
Couple that with how ga-ga I'd gone over Alastor’s intoxicating smell, or how strongly I'd reacted to Radven’s touch on myankle, of all places, and it was clear that emotionally, at least, I wasn’t spoken for at all. When had I become so fast and loose with my desire?
Radven was looking down at me expectantly, and again I got the feeling that I was a mouse cornered by a cat, that he knew everything already and he was simply toying with me for his own amusement. I’d no doubt it was blatantly obvious that I was attracted to him, but this bastard wanted me to admit it out loud.
And he’d know if I lied.
“I’m not spoken for,” I said finally. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to do anything with you here tonight.”
“I never asked,” he replied, one side of his mouth curling higher than the other.
“But you were thinking it,” I said, rising to face him. “Admit it.” He still towered over me, but at least it felt like we were on an even playing field now.
“I’d never deny it,” he said. “I have no reason to hide my desire, butterfly. I find you intriguing.”
“Really? Because back at your mansion you seemed to find me annoying. Or frustrating, at least.”
“Can’t it be both?” His humor was back in full force. “Is it important to you that I find you delightful?”
My cheeks blazed. “That’s not what I meant. I was just pointing out the…thehypocrisy.”
“The truth can change,” he countered. “Or multiple things can be true at the same time. Truth is funny that way.” He was clearly enjoying this exchange to the fullest. “And desire is based on many things. It might be based on physical attraction, or shared passion, or mystery. Perhaps I am simply drawn to a young woman who claims to be inexperienced in the ways of the world but who clearly has as many secrets as I do.”
“I told you before, I don’t really have any secrets. Besides the one I already told you.” I still couldn’t believe I’d confessed to this man that I was a virgin, and clearly that decision was already backfiring on me. “If you think I’m hiding a bunch of other juicy secrets, you’re going to be disappointed.”
“Oh, I doubt you’ll disappoint me.” He had that look in his eyes again—the one that made me feel like he was going to devour me whole.
Something about that look lit a fire in me. I should have been intimidated, perhaps. Or even scared. Instead, the wild, reckless part of me that had been desperately trying to break free these last couple of days was rearing her head again, urging me to lean forward, to grab him and beg him to show me all the things his eyes promised.
But the wiser part of me—or perhaps the exhausted part of me—won, and I turned away from him.
“I’m tired,” I announced. “I’m going to bed. And if you lay a hand on me in the night, I swear I’ll cut off your balls.”
He chuckled. “I’ll only touch you if you ask.”
I didn’t even dignify that with a response. I moved my half-finished plate of lamb to the small table against the wall, and then I pulled aside the worn, patched blanket on the bed and climbed in.
The mattress was lumpy. And it smelled faintly musty, and a little like a barn, and I really didn’t want to think too hard about what sort of cleaning practices a small village inn in this world might—or might not—use between guests. Fortunately, someone had cared enough to stash a small cache of dried lavender inside the pillow, and as for the rest of it, I was too exhausted to give it the amount of thought it probably deserved.
I pulled the blanket up around my shoulders, rolling onto my side so that I faced away from Radven. After turning down the lamp slightly, he settled back down on his side of the bed, making the mattress sink and shift. I braced myself so I wouldn’t roll into his side.
He didn’t get under the covers, though, which was a small blessing. My body was on full alert, my nerves itching to be touched, and I was uncomfortably aware of how long it had been since the last time I’d givenmyselfsome action.
Esmer would definitely have encouraged me to give in to my lust, to roll over and tell Radven he could have his way with me, to let him teach me all the things that wicked smile told me he knew. But I squeezed my eyes shut and willed myself to ignore the heat and presence of his body on the other side of the blanket.
It was a testament to how tired I was that I fell asleep quickly after that. And my sleep was deep and dreamless—at least at the start.
When Ididstart dreaming, my dreams were twisted and strange, and I woke with a jolt to find myself sitting up and gasping, and there was a lump in my stomach like I’d just been through something traumatic and heartbreaking, even though I couldn’t remember what I’d been dreaming about.
