Maeve nipped at his fingers as they both removed their hands. “My original plan was to jump repeatedly on the bed with you. I had to improvise when you were still holding me.”
He laughed again and lowered her to the ground. This woman was insatiable. More uncontrollable than the fire that had burned in his chest earlier—the fire she had willingly stepped into, because he knew it was radiating off him at the bar. He had seen her flinch at the heat, but she still touched him anyway. Still leaned closer.
Cason didn’t want to let go of her, and every part of him wanted to continue removing every bit of clothing she had on—to see if he really had felt the distinct shape of a knife tucked below her belt and against her leg—but he stepped back.
She hadn’t noticed that her shirt was still bunched just underneath her chest and he couldn’t help but stare at her bare stomach. And he couldn’t get thefeelof her off his skin. His lips. He wanted to touch—taste—every inch of her. Get close enough again to figure out what exactly she smelled like. It hadn’t been enough.
He only stared—stared at the fingers that had gripped so tightly through his hair, at the arms that had begged him to hold her tighter, and the hands that had somehow knocked down all of his senses and had nearly removed his shirt from his pants before he remembered they were still in the middle of the tavern.
Maeve made yet another unladylike noise—a groan of annoyance and maybe frustration as she judged the space between them—and folded her arms.
“I meant what I said, Maeve,” he replied to her noise.
It killed him to say it. Hewantedher, but there was still that nagging in the back of his head after the events of the day. Part of the reason he wasn’t surprised to feel that shape of a weapon on her body.
There were at least two horrible men in Averlyn that were now out on the streets because they had failed today.
The face of the woman he met in the markets flashed through his mind—not just her beauty, but the bruises. She said they would do worse to her if they discovered she was the one to reveal their involvement in the robbery. Had they found her already? Was she covered in more cuts and bruises now? Was she no longer breathing or had they tortured her to the point she was barely holding on?
Why was he still picturing her when he had another gorgeous woman in his room with him?
Maeve grumbled and adjusted her shirt back over her waist. “Well, at least I know theuptightCason still has a shred of fun in that toned body of his.”
He studied the woman in front of him, so like the woman he had met earlier. Similar enough in height, a few features that might have been comparable, but not enough to call them siblings or closely related. Still, it was enough familiarity for him to see the woman from the market staring back at him when he had walked into the inn. Enough for him to watch her closely when Rynn questioned her and her friends. Enough to be pleasantly surprised and utterly defenseless when she approached him later. He didn’t see Maeve, he sawher,and that wasn’t fair.
But just like the woman at the market, Maeve knocked down his senses.
That was too dangerous when he was trying to find an assassin… or two men who might be even worse than Veil Worshippers.
He hesitated. When had he started thinking anyone could be worse than those dark cultists?
“You’re staring, shadow hunter,” she said, her voice harsher than earlier. The fierce woman that had walked into fire was back.
Cason quickly recovered. “Why did you do that for me?”
“Let’s just say it was… mutual beneficence,” she sighed and shrugged, picking at her nails. “You didn’t deserve their cruel treatment.”
“How do you know I didn’t deserve it?”
“Because no one does,” she replied quickly. Not harsh, just… sharp with sadness. “Tainted or misunderstood magic, take your pick. Isn’t there enough hate and fear in this world that we don’t need to create more of it?”
Cason studied her for a moment. Too long, apparently, because she flashed another smile.
“You, Cason, are a tease with those beautiful blue eyes of yours,” Maeve purred. Her tongue flicked over her lips and he had to fight to keep his tensing muscles from revealing more movement than a casual shift in stance. Her eyes darted to the bed. “Shame. You could have gone home to your friend with some delightful stories about tonight’s tumble.”
“Is the game we just played not a good enough story?”
The mischievous smirk on her face told him the answer. No. It would have been much,muchmore colorful. And the grunt that rumbled in the back of his throat only made her smile widen.
How in four hells had she heard that?
“Well,” Maeve said, gliding closer. Closer. Her fingers reached to his jaw, down his neck, to his chest—leaving a chill along their path—and then she patted that chest with force. “Until next time, shadow hunter.”
She ducked past him, but he spun and caught her wrist. “Where are you going?”
Maeve raised her eyebrow and gestured to the window. “Home?” Cason just stared until she rolled her eyes. “Do you really think they’re going to believe that you’ve properly tumbled me if I walk past them barely five minutes after we’ve come inside your room?”
He blushed and let go of her arm. “I didn’t mean… I don’t want you—“
