My brain stutters a second and falls back on his name. I mentally pump the brakes. I recognize his name and my chest grows tight.
The realization hits me like cold water. This man isn't just another wealthy patron. He's the one who grants the wishes. The one who holds the power of life and death over the desperate souls who come begging at his altar.
My father’s enemy looks at me expectantly unaware of who I am. Which is good and double good. Good, because I’m not in danger of being kidnapped or worse. And double good because that means he won’t be scared of touching me. It’s an unspoken law that no one touches the Governor’s daughter. Which is why I’m still holding a V-card at my age.
“Your turn, little dove.”
“Kiara.” I lie smoothly, holding my tone steady. Revealing my real identity, if he doesn’t know it, would be foolish. Deadly even. I’m in no hurry to become kidnapped and ransomed by one man while being forced into marriage by another.
“Kiara,” he repeats, catching a wayward tear with his thumb before it can slide past my jaw. The touch is gentle, at odds with everything about him, and it sends a shiver racing down my spine. "Are you sure you don’t want to tell me who made you cry, little dove? Do and I'll make sure they never hurt you again."
The promise in his words should terrify me. It doesn't.
“You can't fix what's wrong with my life,” I whisper. “No one can.”
“You'd be surprised what I can fix.”
His thumb traces along the curve of my jaw, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. My lips part on an exhale that sounds dangerously close to a moan, and his eyes darken as they drop to my mouth.
“Kiara.” He says the name I gave him like he's tasting it, savoring each syllable.
Adangerous smile plays at the corners of his mouth.
His hand slides from my jaw to the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair with a possessiveness that makes my knees weak. “Whisper your wish to me.”
Instead, I find myself swaying toward him, drawn by a force I can neither name nor resist. “Is that what you do? Linger outside the wish room to play the knight in shining armor?”
His laugh is low and dark and utterly devastating. “This is a first for me, as it is for you.”
Something snaps in his expression. For a moment I can’t identify it, but then I understand. His control gives way to hunger.
I should pull away. Should demand he release me and let me leave.
The words hang in the candlelit air between us, heavy with promise. His thumb strokes the sensitive skin at the nape of my neck, and I bite back a whimper as sensation sparks through my nerve endings.
His grip on my neck tightens, tilting my head back as his mouth descends toward mine.
The first brush of his lips is electric. Soft, testing, completely at odds with the barely leashed violence I can see coiling in every line of his body. I gasp against his mouth, and he takes advantage, his tongue sliding past my lips to claim me with slow, devastating strokes.
I've been kissed before. Fumbling attempts by boys who didn't know what they were doing and didn't care to learn.
His free hand finds my waist, pulling me flush against him until I can feel every hard inch of his body pressed against mine. The evidence of his arousal burns againstmy belly, and a moan escapes me. It’s a sound I've never made before and one I didn't know I was capable of making.
He swallows it like it belongs to him. Like I belong to him.
His mouth leaves mine to trail down my jaw, my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot where my pulse pounds frantically. “You taste like desperation and defiance,” he murmurs against my skin. “Like everything I've ever wanted.”
“Idon't—” I can't finish the sentence. Can't think. Can only feel as his tongue traces the column of my throat, as his hand slides from my waist to the small of my back, pressing me even closer.
“Don't what?” He bites down gently on my earlobe, and my knees buckle.
Strong arms catch me, hold me up, keep me from falling. When I look into his eyes, they're blazing with a hunger that makes me feel powerful and terrified in equal measure.
“Don't stop,” I whisper. “Please.”
His groan is primal, possessive. He captures my mouth again, and this time there's nothing gentle about it. This kiss is pure need, pure want, pure claiming. His hands roam my body likehe's memorizing every curve, every dip, every secret place that makes me gasp and arch into his touch.
I fist my hands in his jacket and pull him closer, closer, needing more of this feeling, this fire that's consuming me from the inside out. His tongue strokes against mine in a rhythm that makes me think of other rhythms, other strokes, and wetness floods between my thighs.
