With him crouched behind me, he couldn’t see the rose dusting my chest and cheeks. If he had, well, I would have had to leap from the balcony to my death.
Just the bond.
The thought tasted like a lie.
“There,” he pronounced, the word whispering a shiver down my spine. “Grip the tub while I grab your robe.”
I didn’t hesitate to obey, if only to get him out of my orbit for a single moment so I could catch my breath.
He retreated, returning a moment later with something soft and silky. I slipped one arm in, then switched my grip to secure the other. When Vaeron’s fingers trailed across my stomach to tie the belt around my waist, I nearly combusted.
This is what torture must feel like.
He steadied me again, and I tugged on the towel, letting it drop out from underneath the silk.
Then, he leaned down, his hot breath ghosting over my ear. “I can carry you to the bed.”
“I’m sure you can,” I taunted, trying not to think about how he would look doing just that. I’d already been pressed against his hard body, but in all those other instances, I had hatred to hold onto.
But now? There were no sharp edges…even though there should have been.
His laugh brushed against the back of my neck. “Would you like me to?”
I swallowed. Hard. “The crutches are fine.”
Amusement trickled through the cracks in my mental barricade as he handed them to me. The moment they were beneath my arms, I swung myself toward the arched door.
I had to escape him—and not for the reasons I’d fled before.
Water splashed against stone, echoing through the room as I settled onto the mattress. Surprisingly, it swayed far less than I was expecting. A breeze rustled the leaves overhead, mixing with the plunk of Vaeron entering the tub.
And Goddess help me, I couldn’t stop picturing what it would look like.
I closed my eyes, praying for some sort of salvation.
Because knowing we’d be sharing this room after that?
I was terrified of what would happen.
31
Vaeron returned to the sleeping room with only a thin pair of pants slung low on his hips. Air stuttered and snagged in my throat as my gaze drifted lower. The fabric strained obscenely against the thick length of him, impossible to ignore—a silent reminder of just how precarious my resolve was.
Lust coursed through our fated connection as he drank me in.
And I him.
I sucked in a shuddering breath. The whole time he’d bathed, I’d mulled over what I wanted to do. How I wanted to proceed.
Every instinct, honed by horrific visions of him, screamed at me to retreat. To protect myself. To remember who he was.
And yet, I was exhausted from running. From fighting this undeniable pull.
Even though this step felt like I was betraying myself, I wanted to take it.
“Can we start over?” I asked, treading forward on tentative ground.
He approached the bed, his frame eating up all the space around me. No cold cruelty glinted in his eyes. Instead, they were soft and wanting.
