His eyes flew open. Smooth skin, spotted with hundreds of freckles and messy with strands of ever-changing hair, flooded his vision. He took a deep breath in, and their combined air filled him, smelling of forest moss and maple syrup and something entirely wild. Eyelashes gave way to hazy blue eyes.
Nes’s eyes fell shut as she snuggled into him, her nose tickling the hairs under his chin.
This was a dream. He must still be asleep. This version of Nes, the one huddled close, was too gentle, too soft, to be real.
Even if she wasn’t real, she was warm. And he’d be a fool if he didn’t soak in this dream until he turned wrinkly.
He extended his neck, lifting his chin to her forehead. Resting there,he let his nose dig in past her hairline so his every breath held layers of her. He didn’t know how long they lay like that. He might have fallen back asleep. If he’d ever been awake at all.
He was so comfortable here, with her. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so soundly.
Nes shifted, and he opened his eyes again. This time, the morning light through the window was strong, day marking its presence with a vengeance.
He watched as she slid back on the lone pillow. Her exhales became his inhales, the air between them filled only with their sleepy breath. Her hair was a disaster, and her breath left something to be desired—his was likely worse—but he still found the wordbeautifulfloating at the front of his mind as he stared.
She mumbled something into the pillow.
“What?” His voice felt raw after last night, like he was coaxing out words over a hill of splinters.
She turned her head so one eye glared out at him from the fluff of the pillow. “I said, stop smiling.”
“I’m not smiling.”
Her finger poked out from the blankets. She tapped each corner of his lips. “This”—tap—“is”—tap—“a smile”—tap tap.
He felt the beat of her last two taps all the way down his spine. She met his gaze, and her finger lingered on the center of his lips. He leaned into the touch. Her hand fell away.
He pressed his nose to her forehead again and breathed deep. “You smell of the forest on a dewy morning,” he said. “It’s breathtaking.”
She smiled as she reached for him, and he leaned closer, his hands reaching back for her. Her hands traipsed across his shoulders and chest, smooth swirls that made his skin tingle.
His hands found her body under the blankets, palms hot as they wound their way over her hips and sides. His fingers caressed her skin, hands gliding over long curves and dipping valleys.
His heart thundered, and he listened to its rhythm as he edgedcloser to the center of the bed. Listened to the way it told him to keep going, that this was good. Better than good. It was what he needed.
Nes was the only person he needed.
He opened his eyes to find a pair of dark brown eyes staring at him from over Nes’s shoulder.
Loriana.
He flew back, rolling to the opposite side of the bed in an instant. His shoulder hit the wall with a slam, but he barely felt the impact. Eyes squeezed shut, he tried to calm himself. His breath came in rasps, a combination of nerves and the heat pumping through him. He—that— She…
“Toran?” Nes’s voice sounded as ragged as he felt. “Are you okay?”
He felt her shift on the mattress, but he didn’t open his eyes. He managed a slight nod. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he slid open one eyelid. The room was empty save for himself and Nes. He closed his eyes again and lay back against the wall, as far from Nes as he could get in this small bed. Still, he couldn’t escape her warmth.
“Something wrong?”
Guilt poured through him. Guilt over how he’d woken up for the first time in months and not thought about his dead fiancée. Guilt over how, for a few glorious moments, he’d actually been happy here in bed with Nes. And, of course, the guilt over how he was treating Nes. It wasn’t her fault he was damaged.
She reached for him, her hands on his chest again, and with his back against the wall, there was nowhere for him to go.
Think of something else.Anything else.
No matter how hard he tried to bring forth the icy memories of the well, his mind wouldn’t stop replaying the feel of her skin under his hands and envisioning his lips on hers.
He was acutely aware of his own body now. Of the way the blanket tickled the barest of skin in the most intimate places. Of the way his body was still responding to her touch, couldn’t forget the proximity of her body. Her verynakedbody.
