She stepped forward, not letting him escape. “No, I felt guilty for what I’d done and….”
He ran an exhausted thumb down his aching forehead as she left the sentence unfinished. Fuck. She felt guilty. That was even worse.
He stepped back again. “I assure you, there is nothing that you should feel remotely guilty about. The very last thing I want is for you—”
She cut him off by stepping forward once more. And this time she didn’t stop. She wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned her cheek against his chest, right over his aching heart.
“I’m getting this all wrong.” She shook her head softly against him and then whispered, “The first night, I came because I wanted to help. But only because it was you, Val. After that, I came because I loved how it felt in your arms, as if I had the right to be there. I loved the feeling of your skin against mine in a way that I had never dreamed would be possible, and I wanted… I… wanted….”
She leaned her head back so that she could look right at him and admitted, “I just wanted you.”
The tension in his chest burst like a sudden downpour of rain in sunshine, a thousand glittering drops sparkling all around him as her words settled into his heart.
She wanted him.
Enough that she would sneak into his tent each night to be with him. Even when he spent all day ignoring her.
She could have left him to Rafe and Nim, experienced healers, if she was worried. In fact, she could have left him entirely, and he wouldn’t have blamed her after the way he’d been behaving. But she hadn’t. She had chosen to stay with him each night.
She wanted him. Wantedhim.
He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close into his body, almost light-headed with how badly he needed her, not quite believing that she wanted him back but wishing it could be true.
She leaned into him with a soft sigh of pleasure, and he almost accepted that she might genuinely choose to be with him.
She held him tighter and nuzzled her face into his neck, her hair tickling against his skin. It felt so right. So familiar. And the feeling filled him with a sudden horror.
His dreams! What had he done? He’d thought he was dreaming. Was he so far gone that he couldn’t tell the difference? He might have done anything. Frightened her. Or worse.
His gut clenched as he pulled back, almost out of her arms, and gripped her shoulders, pushing her away, his battered heart beating heavily at the look of sad acceptance in her eyes. “Gods. Alanna. What did I do? Did I hurt you?”
She stared at him, blinking, as he waited anxiously, not knowing what to think, dread and guilt swirling in his chest.
But then she laughed. She threw her head back and laughed. That same deep, rich laugh that washed over him like the first warmth after a long winter.
She pulled herself free of his grip and then wrapped her arms around his neck, standing up on her toes until her nose was touching his. “No. Nothing like that.”
“Are you certain?” She would say something if he’d hurt her. Wouldn’t she?
She rubbed her nose delicately against his. “Absolutely, unequivocally certain. Although I have to admit, I have been desperate to ask you what you’ve been dreaming.”
She said it with such delight that there was no way he could do anything other than smile back down at her as relief flooded him; relief and a thousand evocative images from his dreams.
She wasn’t afraid of him. She genuinely wanted to be with him. And now she was standing in his arms, her body pressed against his exactly as he’d wished a million times. It felt like a dream itself.
And if he was dreaming, then there was nothing to stop him from continuing the fantasy. He tightened his hands around her waist and let his nose slide along her cheek until his lips touched her ear. “Maybe, one day, I could show you.”
She blushed as she sank back down to her feet, tilting her head up to look at him, but she kept her eyes on his as she murmured, “Maybe you could show me now.”
Chapter Eleven
Val’s handstightened on her waist, his eyes darkening until it was like looking into the star-strewn night sky.
“Did you mean it?” His voice was deep and rough, and she shivered.
Did she mean it? She had meant it. But now? Now she was suddenly much less sure of herself.
Not less sure of him. The nights lying against him, imagining every way he might possibly touch her, listening to his breathing change and the way he mumbled her name, had been unadulterated torture. She wanted him with every cell in her body.
