“You didn’t seem to mind my nature when you were kissing me.”
She swallowed hard.
“I guess we can both call it a distraction,” she said. “A little break from your dragon drama.”
A bitter thought took root.
Was that all I was for her? A bit of rough mountain novelty she could play with?
The thought was a jagged blade.
“I guess everyone deserves a little fun,” he said dryly.
Sylvie slammed the dough onto the worktop.
Flour exploded into the air between them like a white curtain.
“If you say so.”
“I enjoyed it,” he said—and hated the raw longing in his own voice. “We had… something.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re using the past tense,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “Because that’s where it belongs. In the past.”
She kneaded as though she could work him out of her system.
He stepped closer, leaning over her.
“What about you?” His throat tightened.
“What about me?”
“Did you enjoy it?”
He searched her face for anything—a flicker, a softening, something, anything to tell him they had a chance to turn this around.
“No,” she said.
But her voice betrayed her.
It was a lie, and they both knew it.
“You were more than you are,” she added quietly.
His chest constricted—sharp and physical.
“Who do you think I am, Sylvie? Tell me.”
She stopped and truly looked at him then.
He could see the flour smudges under her eyes were wet.
“You’re not for me, Rhavor.”
The words nearly took him to his knees.
“I’m busy,” she said, turning her back to him and heading for the ovens. “And the last thing I need in my kitchen is an obnoxious health-and-safety hazard of a man who bites more than he can chew.”
Silence stretched between them.
