But last night…
Last night had been something else entirely. Something that had cracked open a part of him he hadn’t known existed.
Sorcha had shattered him until he had poured himself into her. He could still hear the echo of her moans, the way she had clenched around him and cried out his name as though it were the only thing she remembered.
Now, she lay in the cradle of his arms, sleeping like the gentlest of angels fallen to earth.
Her hair spilled across his chest, red like embers. Her body curved instinctively into his. Her soft breasts were pressed against his ribs, one leg thrown over his thigh.
Naked. Utterly his, even if for a few hours.
His length throbbed against her hip at the thought.
He could have rolled her over and thrust into her until she gasped awake. But that hunger was nothing compared to what was happening in his chest. In hisheart. It beat too fast, in a way that made his throat tighten and his lungs seize.
How can I send her away?
The thought cut through him.
How can I possibly live without her?
He drew in a harsh breath. He shoved a hand through his hair, as though the rough motion might clear his mind.
He had not been this hesitant since he was a boy of sixteen, standing over his father’s bloodied body, shedding tears that vowed vengeance.
What was he going to do? He was trapped between the past and hope for a new future.
The question niggled at him relentlessly.
His mind flashed back to that night years ago. The screams. The smoke. His mother’s lifeless eyes, staring at nothing.
The traitors’ whispers had followed him for years afterward. His parents’ names were still being dragged through the mud by men who had never faced justice.
Some of those men still walked free. Some still plotted. If he let Sorcha stay in his castle, in his bed, in his life, she would become a target.
The thought sent ice through his veins. He could not—wouldnot—bear it if any harm came to her because of him.
Things would turn bloody soon; he was sure of that.
Nay.
He shook his head once, and the movement made her lashes flutter. She didn’t wake up, however.
The sight of her deeply asleep, so peaceful, pierced him so hard that he forgot how to breathe.
Instinct took over. He lowered his head and pressed the softest of kisses to each closed eyelid. Featherlight touches that felt more like vows. When he drew back, her eyes opened.
The sight made him chuckle. He hadn’t expected her to wake up so easily.
He watched as awareness returned to her slowly. He saw it in the way her pupils dilated, the way her lips parted on a soft, startled breath, before a blush bloomed in her cheeks.
She must be remembering the previous night, how she had arched beneath him, how she had screamed his name while he had driven into her again and again.
She tried to hide it, turning her face into his palm with shy grace that made his heart stutter.
He let out another chuckle, this one tender. Then he lowered his head again and pressed a soft kiss to her lips.
She melted into it instantly, like she had the night before. Her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer.
