“What’s wrong?”
My eyelids fly open, and I find Thorne crouched before me.
And he is, of course, shirtless.
Glittering hell, why am I constantly pulling him into my dreamscapes lately? And why is my mind so debauched? I curse under my breath, but it snags on the emotion that remains trapped in my throat. It leaves my lips in a pathetic whine.
Thorne’s lips pull into a frown, and he lifts a finger toward my face. I hold my breath as he brushes my cheek, gathering a tear on his fingertip. His eyes narrow at the moisture there. Then he swipes his thumb over the edge of my jaw, where more tears hover, waiting to fall.
That’s when I realize…
His touch is too firm. Too warm. Too real.
Which means…
I bite back a squeal and leap to my feet, my paper fan falling to the ground. My dreamscape melts away but leaves Thorne perfectly intact. He rises slower than I did, his eyes never leaving mine. I back up a step. “Why the hell are you in my room?”
His voice comes out smooth. Calm. “You didn’t answer when I knocked.”
“Why were you at my door?”
“Why were you crying?” His eyes dip to my jaw, where his fingertips brushed mere seconds before. His gaze turns hard, cold, punishing. Like he’s holding a vendetta against the tears he wiped away. I realize he isn’t wearing his spectacles. The absence of his lenses paired with that expression makes me feel vulnerable, bared before him—
Heat floods my cheeks as I recall my state of undress. I resist the urge to cover myself, for that will only draw attention to my flimsy chemise. “That’s none of your business,” I say through my teeth. “This may be your manor, but you can’t just waltz into my room in the middle of the night. What if I was…”
“Naked? Pleasuring yourself?” His cold stare dissolves as a smirk forms on his lips. It’s a far more comforting sight than that fierce look that had me feeling naked just moments ago. He tilts his head to the side. “Dearest nemesis, let’s not fret over things I’ve seen before.”
My blush deepens with a spark of rage. I thrust out a palm to strike his arm, but he catches my wrist and tugs me a step closer.
He bends down slightly, bringing us eye to eye. Again, I wish he was wearing his spectacles, if only to provide a barrier between me and the heat of his gaze. “I was worried about you.”
I swallow hard. “Why?”
He releases my hand, and I manage not to stagger back. “You kept tugging at me,” he says.
“Tugging?”
“I could feel you grasping for me, again and again, over the last several minutes.”
I didn’t think my cheeks could burn any hotter. “What are you talking about?”
“Your magic was trying to drag me into a dreamscape, which tells me you were losing control. And it wasn’t the fun kind, like this morning.” His lips quirk once more, and it takes all my restraint not to try and hit him again. Before my anger can grow too much, his expression turns serious. “I knew that meant you were troubled, so I was worried.”
I cross my arms. “And then you barged into my room? Shirtless?”
“I knocked first.”
“I didn’t say you could enter. And you still haven’t told me why you aren’t wearing a shirt.”
“You woke me up,” he rushes to say. “When your magic tugged at me, you pulled me from sleep. I…I wasn’t thinking clearly. I just came to check on you. You’re clearly fine, so I’ll take my leave.”
As he turns toward the door, my chest constricts, and I find my feet moving before my mind realizes what I’m doing. I take a step after him, but my foot nudges something on the floor. Glancing down, I expect to find the fan I dropped, but instead…it’s a rectangular floral-printed box. It wasn’t here before, nor did it come from my wardrobe.
I lift my gaze to Thorne’s retreating back. “What’s this?”
He releases an aggrieved sigh, then turns halfway around. Staring at the far wall, he says, “Something I thought might cheer you up.”
“You had the presence of mind to bring something to cheer me up…but not to put on a shirt.”
