Page 117 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

“Cas,” she whispered. She edged closer, so close that their noses were only an inch apart. His gaze flicked to her lips, then away.

“Finch,” he said.

She set her hand, palm down, in the space between their chests. Ever so gently, he moved his hand, just so his fingertips overlapped with hers.

“You wouldn’t have left,” he said.

“Nettlepool?”

“Yes.” He swallowed; she watched the motion, thinking about what it would taste like to run her mouth down the column of his throat, to follow his hesitation with her lips and tongue.

He’d asked her to leave so many times—and she had always deflected, thinking only of her work. Except for the end, that one time she’d asked Celestine to investigate the possibility. She whispered, “I wish you had told me, then, what you had gotten yourself into.”

“Nore,” Caspian said, mournful. “We should not do this now.”

“Then when?” she asked.

“When you’re ready. When you can bear it.”

“I’m ready.”

He leaned in for just a second. Pressed his lips to hers. She froze for the barest moment—and by the time she was ready to pull him in, he was already moving away.

“Not now,” Caspian said. She started to speak, but he shook his head. “Not now,” he repeated. “I can’t, when you still hate me.”

Nore gripped his shoulders, drawing him close. She rolled onto her back, pulling Caspian over her. “Remind me,” she begged, running her hands down his chest. “Remind me why I hate you. All of the reasons.”

“Because I stabbed you,” Caspian said. He moved, leaned down to kiss her on the peak of her left cheekbone. “I nearly killed you.”

“I hunted you,” Nore murmured, lifting her chin as he shifted to kiss her throat. “I searched for you. I set traps, and yet you kept evading them.”

“They weren’t good traps,” he said against her collarbone.

They were good traps, but that wasn’t the point. “You lied to me for years,” Nore said, her eyes sliding shut. She felt his hands on the hem of her shift, dragging it up over her ribs. She shivered as his thumb skimmed over her nipple.

“I wasn’t the only one keeping secrets,” he murmured, kissing the swell of her breast.

“Does it matter?” Nore gasped, arching into him.

“No,” Caspian said. “Because I’m the only one who knows who you are, down to the blackhearted core of you,” he said against her skin.

Nore reached down, her hand skimming over his chest. “Even now?”

“Even now,” Caspian said. But then he shifted, moved back to his side of the bed. Nore blinked up into darkness. “And yet, you still want me. You hate me, and that changes nothing.”

Nore sat up, looking over at him. Her veins were too hot in her skin, her heart beating too hard. “Caspian…”

“Am I wrong? You don’t hate me?”

“I…”

He leaned close, so close his lips nearly brushed hers as he whispered, “I won’t give in, Nore. Not until you can no longer bear it. Not until you beg.”

“I won’t,” she said, a laugh creeping into her voice.

He nipped her lower lip. “Won’t you?”

She searched for words and found none. The truth: she couldn’t bear him now. Maybe she’d never be able to bear him again. Maybe that was the truth of it: that she hated him so much, so passionately, that it had all circled back again and she felt nothing more than heat in her stomach.