He got busy repacking the first-aid box. “I’ll set up the bed on the couch, the room’s still too cold. You should get some rest.”
“Týr?”
Damn. The way she said his name, it was like a compulsion to look up. It would be a huge mistake, and yet, he did. Hell, this was Kira, so how could he not?
He had no idea what she sought for while searching his eyes, probably his many sins. It wasn’t something he ever wanted her to see. But the emotions racing across her face appeared as equally tangled as his.
“I…” Then, startling the hell outta him, she leaned forward and pressed her tempting mouth to his, stunning him speechless.
Oh. Fuck!
* * *
At the sensual touch of Týr’s warm lips on hers, Kira’s breath caught in her throat. His lips were hard yet soft, sensual…and he wasn’t kissing her back.
Oh, God. She was such an idiot. Heat scalding her face, she jerked back. She’d only meant to say thank you, not to kiss him, but the way he’d looked at her, like she was all he saw…
Her stomach twisting in embarrassment, she jumped up from the stone step, needing distance. But Týr snagged her wrist before she could escape. Something dark and intense raged in those caramel depths as he rose like an uncoiling predator to tower over her.
Her heart pounding in her ears, the words burst free, “I’m sor—”
“Don’t care.” His big, warm palm slid around her nape, and his mouth captured hers in a deeply carnal kiss as if whatever control he’d hung on to had snapped. He licked inside her mouth, devouring her with sensual strokes then he captured her tongue. Her breath caught. This wasn’t a kiss, it was an assault of her senses, a dark, carnal flame that consumed her whole, where nothing else mattered. Just them.
His touch, his taste, his scent, the way he sucked her tongue—the way his big hands moved over her body, it all sent her mind spinning into an eddy of unbelievable pleasure. She was melting…burning. A whimper tore loose, desire flooding her.
“Dammit, Kira…” he groaned, shifting his hold to her hips. One hand squeezed her towel-clad bottom and his erection ground into her aching sex.
His raspy voice cracked through her pleasurable haze. Kira pulled back, inhaling huge gulps of air. Týr stared at her with eyes gone a searing gold, his breathing slightly ragged, his lips damp from their kiss. But nothing else showed on his face.
In the last decade and a half of her life, she’d done a few scary and some stupid things. But to kiss Týr? Because, as usual, she didn’t think, she’d just jumped in with both feet. It didn’t matter that he’d responded, she’d started this.
Her stomach hurt at the reality.
He isn’t meant for you, Kira.
God, didn’t she know that? Her heart pounding painfully, she wheeled away and rubbed her suddenly cold arms. Týr was too dangerous to the emotions she’d kept locked away for so long. Everything was unraveling, and she had no idea how to even begin putting up her protective walls again.
“Can we just forget this happened?” Her voice sounded husky with need.
“No, I won’t.”
Kira squeezed her eyes shut in despair. “I suppose I deserve that. I only meant to say thanks—”
“I don’t want your damn gratitude.” Callused fingers grasped her upper arm. Her eyelids flew open as he dragged her back to him. Hastily, she clutched her towel, but the one holding her hair fell, and her damp tresses tumbled free. He was so close, there was barely an inch separating them. His blazing eyes scorched hers. “Why the hell did you kiss me then?”
She’d seen Týr angry, but she’d never seen him this furious. Did he dislike her that much? With a trembling hand, she pushed back her damp hair, a deep-seated hurt unfurling. “Because you helped me! I said I was sorry. Why are you so worked up over a kiss? Besides, you didn’t have to kiss me back!”
A tic throbbed furiously on his jaw. Then, all those raw emotions etching his rigid features realigned into a cool mien. Without a word, he headed for the first-aid box.
God. How could this have turned out so messed-up?
Týr returned with gauze and tape. Her hand flashed out, stopping him from getting close. “You don’t have to take care of me.”
“How do you plan on treating that wound? Contort like a gymnast?” he asked, tone edged with mockery.
She scowled. “I don’t want your help if you’re going to be in this shitty mood.”
“And you wonder why?”
