His eyes opened, revealing the depth of his desperation. I searched them, cupping his jaw.
I was a fool for him, too.
Quinn kissed me.
At first, he was hesitant, as if he couldn’t quite believe I’d agreed to the lie we were about to live. Then I kissed him back, my hands fisting his shirt to pull him closer, and his kiss turned hungry.
He grabbed my hair, tilting my head back and deepening the contact. I tasted him, all salt and rain and wine, as we stumbled backwards until my legs hit the edge of the bed.
“Alana,” he pleaded.
I spun us around and pushed him back until he was seated, flattening my palms against his chest. His shirt was soft, but I wanted to feel his skin, to memorize every inch of him before this dream ended…so I pulled the fabric over his head, letting it fall to the floor.
His shoulders were lean and muscled, his chest perfectly divided by a deep crevice, rising and falling with unsteady breaths. My fingers traced the line of his collarbone, feeling him shiver beneath my touch.
I crawled onto his lap and kissed him again, softer this time, while my hands explored the warm expanse of his chest, the smooth skin over his ribs. He made a low sound when my lips found the hollow at the base of his neck.
My hand slid slower, tracing the lines of muscle that disappeared beneath his waistband. There was no duty to stop usnow; only the weight of every denied moment coaxing my touch. Quinn went still, his breath shallow as desire and pain warred in his features.
“Lana, wait.” His skin burned with a fever beneath my palm. I raised a brow as he gathered his wits, pushing himself deeper into bed.
My head tilted. Now he was the liar, depriving himself of my touch despite how delightedly he’d arched into it.
He grabbed me, pulling me up beside him until my head rested on his bicep. For a long while, we just looked at one another. Occasionally he tucked my dampened hair back behind my ear or ran his fingers down my arm.
“Let’s not torture ourselves,” he whispered. “I won’t make you harbor more secrets from Nicolas. And if you touch me, I’m afraid I won’t leave after all. I’d make it as far as Woolsfell before running back to you.”
I couldn’t help but smile as I shifted closer.“What do you want from me, Viscount?”
“I want to lie here.” He twirled my hair into a coil around his finger. “I want to fall asleep and wake up at your side. If you’ll grant me that, I’ll go home with a memory happy enough to last the remainder of my days.”
What a very Hadrian thing to say.
“And you, Alana? What do you want from me?”
I inhaled him, memorizing his scent.“Your shirt.”
“My shirt?”
“Something that smells like you,”I signed, though my movements grew sloppier with exhaustion.“So that I can breathe it in and remember that somebody chose to want me.”
Quinn’s laugh rumbled through him. “I’ll think of something. When I wake up, I’ll go to say good-bye to Juliana, and then I’ll find a subtle favor to leave behind.”
His hand settled on my hip. I put my arms around him, burying my face in his neck, and for the next several hours I remained perfectly still. I didn’t dare sleep.
Some time in the small hours of the night, Quinn stirred from my grasp. I feigned restfulness, feeling as he replaced himself with a cold but firm pillow. Fabric rustled, probably fromhim putting his shirt back on, and his footsteps carefully receded to the antechamber.
The door clicked shut, and I saw no more of the viscount Quinn Navarro.
Chapter 52
“Yourmajesty, someoneleft you…”
Winnie’s voice trailed off as she entered my chambers, a bouquet of crocuses clutched in her hands. The delicate purple flowers were tied with a familiar leather cord—the sort Quinn used to keep his hair back. Their meaning wasn’t lost on me as I stared at them, still feeling the ghost of him on my fingertips.
I got out of bed, taking them from her and inhaling their scent. Tucked into their center was a small bottle of cologne.
“Shall I put them in water?” Winnie asked, picking up on the unspoken truth.
