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He smiled his beautiful smile. “Good. Now, go to sleep. I have plans.”

“How am I supposed to sleep when you’re lying beside me.” I turned to face him.

“Try, please,” he implored.

I closed my eyes, grateful he was here with me.

Chapter XVI Cricket

We stand on the moor in the gray landscape shrouded in mist. Tristan, dressed in black, gently clasps my fingers and brings my hand up to his lips. His eyes are a wild forest green and a contrast to his dark-chestnut hair and sun-kissed skin. Never breaking eye contact, his lips press a soft, sweet kiss on the back of my hand.

Oh.

I feel it… everywhere. My skin is scorched, branded even, where his lips have been. “Hey,” he says, squeezing my fingers.

“Hey.”

He grins.

“You’re in my dream.” I can’t contain my wonder.

“I know.”

“This feels so real.”

“For me too.” He runs his thumb across my knuckles, and my heart stutters and starts beating a frantic tattoo.

“So what is this place exactly?” I’m breathless from his touch.

“What did you call it? Land of Ghosts? That works.” And he drops his voice to a whisper. “And you shouldn’t be here.”

“Why?”

“It’s against the rules. We can’t stay for too long, so we can’t waste any time.” Abruptly, he tugs my hand so I stumble into his arms and I’m pressed against him, my hands on his chest. Through my T-shirt and the fine material of his shirt, the muscles in his chest are defined and firm.

“Oh!”

“I just wanted to hold you. Is this okay?” He nuzzles my hair and wraps his arms around me. I think I’m going to faint.

“Yes,” I breathe. “More than okay.” I’m safe and secure in his embrace.

“You were so sad earlier, and I just wanted to have you in my arms.”

“Like this?”

“Like this,” he whispers. I tilt my head back and peer up into his mesmerizing eyes. “Earlier, in your room, you wanted this.” He leans down so his lips are a hairbreadth from mine; his fragrance is strong, swirling between us, seducing me. “Oh, Emily, I want it too.” His eyes darken and he’s paused, poised above me. He wants my permission.

I tilt my head further back. “Me too.” My words are a sigh, and I close my eyes.

He groans, and the sound is a spark on dry tinder setting me on fire. His hand moves to cradle my head.

“Please,” I whisper, and slowly, tentatively, his lips touch mine.

Ah. His kiss is warm, firm, and demanding. I moan, and he tightens his hold on me, deepening the kiss, his tongue insistent, and I can’t resist. I part my lips and welcome the intrusion.

Oh. He tastes divine, like his fragrance. Lost in his kiss, driven only by instinct, I move my hands up his chest, to his shoulders, and then into his tousled hair.

He groans once more. “Oh, Emily,” he says against my mouth and kisses me again, his hand holding my head in place. It’s hot, heady, unexpected—and new, so new. His other hand moves down my back, pressing me to him, holding me fast. I strain myself against him, pulling him to me, feeling his body along the length of mine.