If possible, Griffin turns even more stone-faced. “Like I said—no trust.”
“That’s not true! But look at you. At your family. Then look at me and mine. I’m ashamed. And I should be!”
“You’re not them.”
I laugh. It’s bitter and shaky. “I’m not them. But I’m something.” Something I don’t want to think about. Denial is an old friend.
He takes a deep breath through his nose, his mouth flattening. His eyes close and then open again, snaring mine. “I’ll let this go, Cat. For us. I’ll let all these weeks of deception go, and we can move on from here. Just promise me one thing—that there’s nothing else. Vow there are no more secrets between us.”
My gut clenches, and I look down.
Griffin instantly reacts. “What?” he demands. “What is it?”
Toxic words well up, a poison prophecy. “I’m not ready to talk about it.”
His eyes turn thunderous, and that tight muscle bounces in his jaw.
“It isn’t about trusting you,” I try to explain. “I love you. I trust you. It’s about me. About…trusting myself.”
He’s silent for so long that fear takes root in my belly. Then, so low I almost don’t hear him, “Fine.”
“Fine?”
He nods brusquely, curt and small, almost like it’s against his will. “For now. But at least answer this. Why did you leave the castle? How could you leave?”
I frown. “I thought you didn’t want me.”
Griffin growls low in his throat. He leans forward and presses his mouth to mine, gently at first, and then much harder. “Alwayswant you.”
His words are a promise, his kiss a claim. I kiss him back, hardly taking the time to breathe, and with the first searing slide of his tongue over mine, Griffin conquers my body, my soul, and my bruised heart with no effort at all. They were his all along.
I shift in his arms and straddle him, wedging my knees on either side of his hips. His hands rake down my back to cup my bottom, squeezing in that rough way he knows I love—and he loves just as much. He gathers my nightdress around my hips, bunching it in his fists. When his hands move back up, they take the gauzy material with them.
Griffin breaks the kiss to draw the garment up over my head. Frowning, he tosses it aside. “What’s this?”
“A nightgown.”
“I know it’s a nightgown. Where did you get it?”
“Kaia gave it to me from her collection.”
“Kaia?” It’s always unsettling the way his voice can turn chilling without rising or falling a notch. “My fifteen-year-old sister, Kaia?”
“Yes, that Kaia. And Jocasta and I are the only ones who have ever seen her dressed like this, so you can stop plotting torture and imprisonment.”
“But…Kaia?”
“She’s fifteen, Griffin. Some girls are married by then. I’m surprised she’s not sneaking around and kissing the pages.”
His eyes darken dangerously. “Did you kiss the pages?”
“At fifteen?” I nod. “And fourteen. And thirteen…”
“If you say twelve,” he growls, “I won’t be accountable for my actions.”
I tilt my chin up and look at him through narrowed eyes. I’m learning to appreciate this man’s irrational jealousy. “Twelve…”
Snarling a curse, Griffin flips me underneath him. I land on my back, only getting in half a bounce before his weight presses me into the mattress, the hard, powerful lines of his body a delicious counterpoint to all my softer places. Braced above me, he closes his eyes and scrubs one hand down his face. Calluses scrape over stubble. “We’ll talk about this—and Kaia—later. Right now, we’re talking about us.”
