Page 102 of Dark Night of the Soul

I scrubbed the plate so hard I could see my reflection in it—and it was stoneware. I dried it, set it aside. When I turned, he was standing right there, inches away.

It startled me. My heart fluttered. I’d never heard him move.

“What are you—shit, you scared me!” I snapped.

But his eyes… were golden. Burning. Fire. Oh. He’d heard everything.

Well. So much for him not hearing my thoughts. That ship had sailed, hit an iceberg, and sunk spectacularly.

His hands came up, cupping my face. My knees went weak. Then he pressed a kiss to my forehead.

How… chaste.

“You should get some rest.”

Yeah. Sure. Rest. It was an awfully long day. I was tired, but that hum of obsession was still there buzzing underneath my skin. Which was giving my body mixed signals. Everything from let’s do this! to this is a terrible idea.

I should step away, but I didn’t. Instead, I placed my hand on his chest and tucked my head under his chin.

Sometimes, when we were this close, it still surprised me how tall he was. Especially when I was barefoot, and he still wore boots. I never thought about it under normal circumstances. For some reason, this didn’t feel normal. This felt like playing with fire and I was ready to get burned.

I focused on the hollow at the base of his throat. Saw the rapid beat of his pulse matching mine. Knew I couldn’t resist touching it. His skin was warm, smooth.

He went absolutely still. Then wrapped one arm around me. Like he knew both would make me feel caged. It might. I didn’t know. He hadn’t held me like that since everything changed.

I stood there trying to regulate my breathing, trying to steady my heart, trying to pretend standing this close did nothing. It wasn’t nothing. It was the last thing we hadn’t done. And before I changed my mind, I needed to forge ahead.

“Kincade?”

“Yes?”

My pulse jumped. I took a step down the path of no return. “I—I think I’m ready.”

He said nothing for a long moment, then, “We don’t have to.”

He was giving me an out. Or he was giving himself an out. He was afraid of what I might do. So was I. But I was tired of waiting and wanting and obsessing.

“I want to,” I said. “If you do.”

“I do,” he said.

And then we stood there. Neither one of us moving. Like we couldn’t decide what to do next. But I hadn’t moved my hand, the tips of my fingers still grazing the base of his throat. His heart pounded as hard as mine. His arm was still around me, still holding me close.

I tipped my head back to look up at him, and he looked down at me. His mouth slanted over mine. Soft at first. Tentative. Calm. Like testing me. Seeing if my brain would register threat and react.

It didn’t.

He deepened the kiss, pulling me closer. Stealing my breath. Couldn’t think. Heat flooded me, swooping low. My legs threatened to give out.

He stopped long enough to sweep me up, cradling me against his chest. My breath caught. Then he was walking to the bedroom, and I buried my face against his neck.

It was likely the most romantic thing he’d ever done. And it nearly broke me.

When he set me down, I turned into him. His hands slid into my hair. His mouth landed on mine again. Fierce. Claiming.

And then it happened. Desire tripped that part of my brain that screamed threat. It burned hot and wild and I stiffened. My fingers fisted his shirt. Nails scraping down material. I jerked away.

My breath was ragged as I pushed it back down. Forced it away. But it still threatened. I closed my eyes and stood there, trembling, clutching him like a lifeline. The only thing that could save me from myself.