Page 169 of A Sunwoven Ascent

“Lightly. You do not attack it as though you are trying to kill something.”

He snorted. “That is how I do most things.”

“Yes,” she said, adjusting his fingers. “I have noticed.”

Her hand brushed his, and the touch lingered just long enough to change the air between them. Holden felt it at once, that pull, stronger now and much closer than before. He looked down at her, his voice dropping. “Are we going to pretend that night did not happen?”

Her shoulders tensed. “What night?”

He smiled faintly. “The one where you could not keep your eyes off me.”

Her cheeks flushed. “That was part of the dance. Do not flatter yourself.”

“And the way you became so flustered around me?”

“That was… circumstantial.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?”

“It will not happen again,” she said, though her voice lacked its usual edge.

Holden leaned in. “Not even a little?”

“Holden.”

“What?” His voice shifted into something lower, more dangerous. “You don’t miss it? The way I made you forget yourself for half a breath?”

Her blue eyes flared, and that was answer enough to send heat through him. Her breath caught, only slightly, but he heard it. Felt it. He lifted his hand and tipped her chin gently between his fingers, giving her every chance to pull away.

She did not.

“Let’s stop pretending there is nothing between us, Aurelia,” he murmured, his thumb grazing her jaw in a slow, reverent stroke. “Because I have no control where you are concerned.”

Heat or no heat, he knew she wanted him. He knew he was the one her thoughts returned to during that final phase of her cycle, just as his thoughts had returned to her on those long nights alone. Females had to find release during that final phase, or the need would become unbearable. And Aurelia, by the look of her now, seemed perfectly composed. Which told him enough. She had spent three nights alone in her chambers, and he knew exactly what she must have done to endure them.

Aurelia caught her bottom lip between her teeth. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and whatever restraint he had left fractured.

He drew her into a careful, testing kiss, and gods, the way she melted against him nearly ruined him. Her hands rose into his hair, pulling him closer as her body leaned into his, as though she had been waiting for this all along, no matter how fiercely she had tried to deny it.

The kiss deepened. His mouth moved over hers with growing hunger, and when his tongue brushed against her lips, she opened to him fully. She let him in, let him taste the answer she had refused to speak aloud, and Holden felt the last of his control slip.

His hands slid to her breasts, and she arched into his touch, a small moan escaping her before she could stop it. The sound dragged a rough breath from him, and he nipped at her bottom lip. He wanted more. Wanted to hear more. Wanted to ask her to choose him, to stop fighting what already pulled between them.

The bond.

But he didn’t.

Not yet.

He would go slowly with her. He would let her torment him, test him, drive him mad, so long as she did not run from him entirely. So he pulled back instead, just enough to rest his forehead against hers, his breath uneven.

“You are trouble, Lord Holden,” she teased.

His mouth curved. “You like it.”

She did not deny it.

He watched as she turned back to the piano, her composure returning piece by piece. But he saw it now, the side of her that did not belong to silk gowns and quiet drawing rooms. The side that fought, shifted, and belonged beneath open sky just as much as he did.