Page 31

The first note vibrates through my teeth and travels into the table beneath my hands. A heartbeat later, the song fills the hall, impossibly sweet and powerful enough to blur every other sound.

My carefully ordered thoughts begin to loosen almost immediately. Saltweather still matters. Solveig still matters. The contract still exists, and I remember every reason I should be cautious around Sigurd. None of those things disappear, but they lose their grip on me as desire rushes in to replace them.

Heat gathers beneath my skin and settles low in my body. The emerald silk suddenly feels too heavy over my thighs, and every breath makes me more aware of the man sitting inches away.

Sigurd’s hand closes over mine before I can move toward him. The chill of his fingers cuts through the feverish warmth and sends a sharp rush up my arm.

“Valerie.” His voice has gone rough, and the blue markings beneath his collar flare brighter. “Don’t listen to it. Try to block the song.”

I know I should listen. I can see the warning in his face and understand exactly what he’s asking of me, but I no longer want to resist what the song has dragged to the surface.

I pull my hand free. “I don’t want to block it, Sigurd. I want you.”

His focus shifts completely to me, but he keeps his hands away from my body. The effort shows in the rigid set of his shoulders and the tension running through his arms.

I push out of my chair and cross the narrow space between us. The emerald silk rides higher along my thighs when I swing one leg across his lap and settle astride him.

Sigurd catches my waist before I can lose my balance. A rough sound breaks from deep in his chest, but his hands hold me where I am instead of pulling me closer.

“Valerie, you’re lost to the song.” His fingers flex against the silk at my waist. “I’m trying very hard not to take advantage of that.”

I brace my hands on his shoulders and lean toward his jaw. A faint tremor runs beneath my palms, so slight I almost miss it.

“You’re shaking.”

This ancient kraken can stare down billionaires, monsters, and his own terrifying mother without blinking. Right now, he’s trembling because I’m sitting in his lap.

“I’m trying to keep you safe,” he says, and the strain in his voice only makes my pulse jump harder.

I slide my palms down his chest. The crisp cotton between my hands and Sigurd’s skin has become intolerable, so I catch the front of his shirt and pull.

Several pearl buttons snap loose and scatter across the table. Sigurd sucks in a breath when the fabric parts beneath my hands and exposes the gray-blue skin of his chest.

I press my mouth to his throat and taste salt beneath something sharper. His head tips back enough to expose the line of his collarbone, and I follow it with my lips before sliding one hand into his dark hair.

“I know what I want, Sigurd.” I bring his face back toward mine. “I don’t care about the song. Stop holding back.”

I kiss him before he can answer, pouring all the need burning through me into his mouth. Sigurd holds himself rigid for one long moment, but the restraint finally gives way beneath my hands. A guttural sound tears from his chest, and his grip shifts from holding me back to dragging me against him.

He rises with me in his arms as though my weight means nothing. I cling to him as he turns toward the table, and one sweep of his forearm sends plates, platters, and half-empty decanters crashing to the floor.

“You have no idea what you’re asking for,” he groans against my mouth.

He lowers me onto the cleared stone and straightens above me. The emerald surface presses hard against my back as Sigurd tears the ruined shirt from his shoulders and lets it fall beside the shattered dishes.

His tentacles uncoil behind him and spread into the open air. One slides over the table near my hip, while another curves beside my shoulder. Their restless movement is nothing like the careful control he usually keeps around me.

Sigurd steps between my knees and catches the neckline of my dress. He pauses long enough to look down at me, leaving the choice in my hands despite everything the song is doing to us.

I lift myself toward him.

He pulls the silk over my shoulders and arms, leaving the dress gathered around my waist. Mountain air sweeps over my exposed skin, but the heat running through me barely allows me to feel it.

I drag him closer until my palms meet the hard planes of his chest. Two tentacles curl around my wrists and guide my arms above my head, their grip firm without hurting me.

Sigurd bends over me until his mouth is close to mine. “I need to know you’re here with me. Tell me if you want me to stop.”

“You have me.” My fingers curl around the tentacles encircling my wrists, their cool surface almost painfully good against my skin. “And I want more.”