His face was as unreadable as his demeanor. If anything, he looked more well rested. I admit, he cleaned up nicer than I’d have thought. The way he dressed was fashionable and young, finely tailored and undoubtedly paid for by my father. Even under the shade of dogwood trees, his tanned skin brought more warmth to him than he deserved. It was foolish to expect the outward expression to reach his core.
Even with his cold treatment of me, a small knot formed at the idea of melting it. It was a foolish thought, but something about him made me feel like I was safe and in harm’s way all at once, like a lion grooming a lamb.
Arkady was dangerous, and we were now bound by law, by God, and by blood.
As we came to the corner of the greenhouse, he stopped me by grasping my arm.
I turned to him in confusion. He was suddenly so close, looming like the tree that shaded us in the small paradise.
“Have you ever tasted honeysuckle?”
“Excuse me?” My words could only come as a whisper, as if anyone could hear us under the thin cover of the greenhouse corner.
Arkady reached up. Vines covering the walls and the nearby shrubs presented little white flowers, and he plucked one off. The white flora’s petals curled back gracefully, framing the delicate stamens protruding from its core.
I glanced down at it before eyeing him cautiously, a raised brow silently asking him to continue.
He brushed his thumb over my bottom lip. “Open.” A smirk graced his dark demeanor when he spoke.
Heat rose to my cheeks. I was reluctant to believe the innocent gesture, but I obeyed. Though, when he spoke to me in that way, it wasn’t the honeysuckle I craved to taste.
He pinched the base of the small white flower, pulling a stringlike stamen through—producing one single drop of nectar at the base. He held it to my lips, making me stand up slightly on my toes for it.
It tasted something reminiscent of honey, bitter notes like a perfume dancing on my tongue.
“How does it taste?” he asked, his eyes searching, but it was more distracting than anything.
“I don’t know,” I breathed, his face hovering.
“Letmetaste, then.” His touch burning into my cheek, face becoming far too near.
I clenched my eyes shut quickly, then his lips were on mine.
My eyes fluttered open again, unable to do anything but stare.
His other hand held my waist to prevent me from pulling away, and he leaned in farther, making me tilt back.
While our first kiss had been sweet, the warmth of a gentle touch, as is appropriate at a wedding, I suppose, this one held something with more initiative. Like it was less of an invitation and more of a statement.
I gasped into the kiss, trying to breathe in between his touches, but I was already getting lost in him.
He deepened the exchange, becoming hungrier as our lips refused to part. The lingering scent of fig and liquor surrounded me, and my arms reached up for him, wrapping around his shoulders. They werelean; I suppose that was necessary when carving through stone for hours a day. Even though it was expected, I didn’t realize how solid he was, which reminded me how real everything was becoming.
“What are you doing?” I managed to break the contact.
“Tasting something sweet.” His words teased my lips, wanting to taste them again.
“This is inappropriate.” I covered his mouth with my gloved hand as if hiding it would keep my head on straight.
He pushed my hand away, making me stumble back as he stepped forward. “I think it excites you.”
“I don’t understand—” My back hit the honeysuckle-covered brick, his body pinning me there.
“I think you do.” His hands settled at my waist, his lips trailing to my ear. “I think you like the idea of getting caught.”
“You are just avoiding my questions.”
“Is that why you cut his throat?” he whispered, trailing his hand over the front of my neck. “You wanted to get caught?”
