Each splinter stings when I remove it, but I heal quickly.
I can’t, no matter how hard I try, reach the final splinter that’s lodged beneath my left shoulder blade. I nearly turn in circles, trying to grab it before I stop myself.
“Here,” he says. “Let me.”
“No.”
His forehead creases. “You can’t leave that wood in your body. I don’t know what kind of magic these replicas are made out of, but the original trees were old magic. You don’t want to mess with them.”
My glare deepens. “Nowyou warn me.”
A hint of a smile flickers around his mouth. “I really didn’t think you’d tear it up.”
“I offered you a deal. You answered my question, so I ripped up the orchard.” I glare harder. “I honor my deals.”
He stops reaching for me. “As do I.”
“Clearly not.”
His shoulders slump and then he’s silent again. But not for long. “Will you let me…?”
Very slowly, he reaches for my shoulder, persisting beyond belief, but I’m forced to acknowledge that I can’t get the damn shard out on my own. If what he said is true—and indeed, the energy I felt within the trees tells me that even the replicas could be dangerous—then I can’t let my pride dictate my choices right now.
I angle my shoulder forward and turn slightly to give him better access. “Okay.”
He focuses intently on my shoulder, his fingers brushing my skin as he carefully parts the ripped material. The gauzy dress was certainly insufficient armor against flying debris.
I close my eyes as he takes his time inspecting the shard, his touch gentle and soothing, before he quickly yanks it out.
I wince. Damn thing must have been embedded deeper than I thought.
Only a moment of pain shoots across my back before he swoops in, pressing his lips to the wound, feathering my skin.
I choose to stay where I am.
I choose to defy reality and pretend, for a moment, that he isn’t my enemy.
My voice is a whisper in the quiet. “If I keep my eyes closed, you will be my keeper again.”
His response is low and soft. “I will be your keeper until the moment of my death, my Veda. I will not be anything else.”
His hands slip around my waist, pulling my back to his front before his mouth nudges the side of my neck. His right hand rests low across my stomach, a tantalizing inch above the top of my pelvis.
His thumb brushes across the gauzy material, and pleasure spikes between my legs, a heat that I literally tried to run away from.
It returns with a force I wasn’t expecting, a deep, aching need.
“Say the word,” he murmurs at my ear, his lips brushing my earlobe. “And I’ll ease the ache you feel.”
How often I forget that my heart tells him everything, even my desires.
“I think you already know my answer,” I say.
With a groan, he dips his hand between my legs, finding my clit beneath my dress.
Heat and need swirl within my core as he strokes me, pleasure flooding my limbs, intensifying when his other hand cups my breast and strokes through the material.
I arch into his hands, both of them, needing and wanting more even though I know this is as close as we’ll get.
