Page 68 of Heartbreak Prince

“No. Put your cloak on that hook near the fireplace so it can dry, and then you get into bed first. I want to sleep on the outside in case anything happens. And I’m going to barricade the door.”

“What could happen?” he whispers. “The lady and her children are sleeping, and they are the only ones who know we’re here.”

“What could happen?” I echo. “Anything, that’s what.” I take the chair I was sitting on and prop it under the door handle. When I turn around, Vawn is directly in front of me.

He has shed his cloak, leaving only a pair of loose ivory sleep pants. The firelight glows warmly on the contours of his bare chest. “Show me your glyphs.”

Mutely I lift my hands, and he takes my fingertips for inspection.

“I should put another coat of varnish on these.” He rubs my knuckles lightly with his thumbs, and then, as if on impulse, he lifts my right hand and ducks his head to kiss my fingers.

The brush of his full, soft lips is like fire to my soul, flaring through my body with the intensity of a lightning strike.

He strokes my fingers with his thumb again, then looks up at me.

My mouth is as dry as paper, and my tongue feels numb.

I have no idea why he affects me so dramatically. I’ve felt flutters of delight and surges of arousal with men before, but sex with them was easy, almost prosaic. Casual. Maybe because there was nothing to anticipate and nothing to dread.

With the prince, everything is either shining hope or abject despair. The magic of his charm shimmers around him like an iridescent cloud, like a spell, though I know for a fact that neither his toes nor his fingers bear seduction glyphs. The euphoric influence that quivers in the air between us—it’s just him.

“I made myself come in the privy just now,” he whispers. “I wanted you to be comfortable being close to me, so I took care of that ahead of time.”

Considerate of him, and yet I feel strangely let down. “Oh.”

He tilts his head, perceptive as ever. “Would you rather I hadn’t?”

“Don’t be silly.” I pull my hands away. “You’re my brother.”

“Of course.” He grins, then licks his lips far too slowly. “Sister.”

I turn away to fetch the varnish and my nail repair kit, thankful for the extra few seconds to let the blush drain from my cheeks. We sit on the bed cross-legged, facing each other, and Vawn coats my nails with varnish. I let him blow on them, which is foolish, because watching his perfect mouth form a small O is excruciating.

When the varnish is dry, he moves to the far side of the bed, practically pressed against the wall so I can have half the space for myself. Even so, we can’t lie comfortably without touching each other, because the right side of the mattress slopes down a bit, threatening to spill me onto the floor, so I have to stay back from the edge.

Vawn finally settles down on his left side, with his back to the wall. I’m in front of him on my left side, very conscious of the fact that my ass is touching his lower belly.

It’s awkward, but I refuse to suggest that he sleep on the floor. That would be cruel, after he toiled alongside me through the Red Mountains.

Vawn sighs at my back and slides his hand over my waist. “May I put my arm around you? It will keep you from sliding off the bed.”

“Yes,” I say grudgingly.

Silence for a few moments, and then he whispers teasingly, “Is this how brothers and sisters sleep?”

“Sshh.”

“I forgot, I can’t talk. The horse scrambled my brains.” He vents a quiet laugh. “I can’t believe she bought that story.”

“And why shouldn’t she? It’s better than the stories you keep telling, about us being married.”

“Those are very good stories. They provide an excuse for our closeness and your peevishness.”

“I’m not peevish. I’m practical.”

He laughs, and I thrust an elbow back into his ribs to quiet him. He grunts faintly, then tucks his arm more tightly around me.

I lie there, watching the fire burn low, chewing my lip anxiously. I can’t stay still, despite my best efforts. My exhaustion has gone beyond simple weariness into some new space of hyper-awareness.