I straighten my gown and gather my composure. I’m surprised I’m not more embarrassed. I know I should be. He must have glimpsed the position I was in. The placement of my hands. That is, if he could see me clearly. His flustered countenance tells me he could. Come to think of it, I don’t feel the low hum of my magic like I normally do. Instead, all I feel is a different hum, a wave of heat radiating through me, building at my center and rippling out in every direction. It seems Torben’s unexpected interruption did nothing to calmthatsensation. If anything, it’s only grown stronger.
Perhaps it’s due to the nature of my brief fantasy, but I can’t take my eyes off him. I take in the copper glint of his hair where it’s touched by the dim lamplight. The sensuous curve of his lips. The close-cropped bronze beard adorning his sharp jaw. I knew he was handsome before, but right now…he’s beautiful. Breathtaking. I’m certain he always was. I just haven’t been so keenly aware of it until now.
He gives me a formal tilt of his head. “Pardon,” he says and makes another attempt to back out of the doorway.
My pulse quickens at the thought of him leaving. I take a step closer. “How did it go with my stepmother?”
He freezes yet again. His throat bobs, and he meets my eyes only briefly. “Not as well as I had hoped. But we can talk about it in the morning. I should let you rest.”
“I’m fully recovered. We can talk about it now.”
His gaze locks on mine again, only to dip down to my lips. It seems to take him a momentous effort to drag his eyes away from them. “No, you must still be unwell. You seem…flushed.”
“Flushed?” I echo, my voice suddenly pitched higher than normal. “Perhaps I’m just a little warm.”
That seems to sober him from his flustered state. “Are you feverish again? Let me feel your temperature.” I’m about to tell him it isn’t necessary, but before I know it, he strides straight toward me and presses the back of his hand against my forehead. I stifle a gasp. The feel of his skin on mine sends a bolt of pleasure from my head to my toes. My eyelids grow heavy, sending my lashes fluttering as I lean into his touch. He pulls back, making me stumble forward, still seeking the pressure of his hand.
“Do that again,” I say before I can stop myself.
“Astrid…” There’s a note of warning in his voice, but I don’t know what he’s warning me against.
“Please,” I say, my voice nearly breathless. “Touch me again.”
His chest heaves while the rest of him goes rigid. Finally, he slowly lifts his hand and places it against my cheek. His skin is warm, his touch gentle yet steady. Nothing has ever felt so good in my life. Not even my fantasy about his fingertips dancing over my skin.
“Astrid, I…” Torben’s voice is strained. “I can smell your arousal.”
A flash of embarrassment courses through me, but it’s nothing compared to the desire building inside me. I swallow hard. “So?”
“So…” He has to clear his throat a few times before he manages to say another word. “So this is highly inappropriate.”
I almost pull my head back with the weight of my indignation, but the soft feel of his palm still cupping my cheek holds me in place. “Why?”
“Because of your condition.”
I scoff. “My condition? You mean feeling well and healthy for the first time in years? Do you think I’m still under the effects of my tincture?”
“What I think is that you’re in a highly sensitive state.” His eyes dip to my lips again, and desire flashes in his eyes.
Perhaps that’s what emboldens me to say what I do next. “I am. Every inch of my body is sensitive right now. Which is why I want you to put both of your hands on me.”
His jaw shifts side to side as his breaths grow sharper, shakier. “It wouldn’t be appropriate. You aren’t thinking clearly.”
My lips curl in what I hope to be a reassuring smile. “I promise you my mind is clear. It’s never been so clear.” I lift my chin, angling my face toward his, and lean closer. My mouth tingles, yearning to experience what his lips feel like, taste like. Everything inside me begs to press against him. It takes all my restraint to hold back, to let him make the next move. “Torben, I want you to touch me. Not just on my cheek.”
His palm quavers against my skin, his flesh so hot it’s almost scalding.
I close another inch between us. My pulse races as I lift one hand and place it over the center of his chest. I pause, waiting to see if he’ll back away. When he doesn’t, I reach for the belt of my robe. With a tug, the tie comes loose.
Torben steps back so suddenly, I’m startled in place. “No, I can’t do this. I won’t take advantage of your condition.”
I bark a laugh. “You keep mentioning myconditionlike I’m some frail thing.” As the words leave my mouth, I recall the memory I unearthed—of him as a cub comforting me on the lakeshore. The way we met explains why I’ve always been confused about the qualities I reflect back to him, why the hints of vulnerability and weakness I sometimes glimpse never match up with the version of him I know. It’s because I formed that first impression when he was small. When we were both weak and vulnerable.
Which means that’s all I can ever be. Something fragile and in need of protection. Not a sensual woman seeking the pleasurable touch of a highly attractive man.
I’ve never been more incensed by my own magic than I am now.
“Is that what it is?” I say, tone cold. “You don’t find me desirable because you see me as weak and small. Because I’m nothing more than a reflection to you, and that reflection is not something to take pleasure in.”
