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Cold moved through me like a gust of wind. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She had a future, her whole life ahead of her. Planned out exactly the way she’d dreamed.
That future didn’t involve me.
I was supposed to be an experience. Just pleasure and fun.
Nothing more.
I pulled back, untangling our bodies, and stood. For the first time in a while, I was speechless. Completely off guard. Just standing there with my chest heaving, trying to find the right words.
The words that would put a wall up between us.
But they weren’t there.
She pushed herself up, holding the sheet to her chest. “Merrick,” she whispered.
I cleared my throat. “Clara.”
Her eyes were wide, but this time it was with something else. Her lashes glistened.
“What was that?”
I opened my mouth, still too stunned to speak. I knew what that was. We both fucking knew what that was.
She cocked her head, waiting for me to say something. I snapped to life, pulling on my sweatpants and pushing my cigarettes into the pocket.
“I…um…I’m going for a smoke,” I said hoarsely.
I felt her eyes on me as I fled the room. It was cold out, but it helped me steady my hands so I could light my cigarette. I stood on the porch, shirtless, but barely cold. My skin tingled from her touch. Her scent was all over me.
Dark jasmine.
My mouth still tasted like hers. I darted my tongue out and flicked it over my bottom lip.
My hand shook as I put the cigarette to my mouth.
I was smoking too much.
Twenty-six years ago, I’d stood at the center of an underground arena. I’d dug to the depths of myself and accepted that I wasn’t likely to live till the evening.
Then I’d fought for my life and they made me the Welsh King.
I didn’t want Clara to live in my world of blood and duty. I wanted her to live free, without the constraints of being married to the Brenin. She’d outlined exactly how she wanted her future to unfold to me years ago and I took that seriously.
She’d said she wanted to marry a man like Osian Cardiff so she could be a beautiful, careless trophy wife. So she never had to go back to the dark, utilitarian world she’d grown up in.
The cigarette burnt my lips, barely more than a nub in my fingers. I flicked it away and went into the dark hall. Locking the door.
Checking it once. Twice. Three times. Then four.
Fuck, I’d messed it up. It had to be in groups of three or it wasn’t right.
One, two, three.
Four, five, six.
Seven, eight, nine.
I turned and walked down the hall and paused. Releasing a breath as I pivoted and stopped myself.
