Unable to help herself, she drew in his scent again.
“Hmm . . .” She hummed, the sound all kinds of wrong. ’Twas madness. The claw and pull of attraction. Her cresting arousal. The ludicrous way she breathed him in, needing some part of him—any part of him—deep inside her, feeling foolish even as her enjoyment grew. “Henrik.”
Something moved beside her bed. “Here, iubita.”
Cosmina yelped in surprise and skittered backward. The web of ropes beneath her mattress swayed. Her bottom collided with the crooked log posing as a footboard. Rough wood scraped the side of her leg. “Ouch!”
“Christ.”
Arm muscles flexing, Henrik sat up. Sleepy eyes met hers a moment before he tossed a wool blanket aside. Firelight bounced off his leather tunic as he rolled off the floor and shifted to sit on the edge of her bed. The mattress dipped. She peered over the side and around him, focusing on the thin pallet spread out on the dirt floor. Good goddess. He’d been asleep beside her the whole time. Just a few feet away while she’d fantasized about touching him . . .
About being with him.
Running a hand through his messy hair, he stared at her. “Are you hurt?”
“Nay.” Stroking the outside of her thigh, Cosmina rubbed the sting away. “You startled me, ’tis all.”
“Seems to be a running theme with me.”
“Scaring people?”
“Aye.”
“There are worse things.” Like lust. And overwhelming need and crazy, ridiculous desire for the man seated a few feet away. Take your pick. No matter how she sliced it, each one signaled disaster. The kind good girls didn’t come back from in one piece. Another excellent observation. One big problem. Cosmina didn’t give a wit about the danger surrounding him. She wanted to be brave instead—to explore, claim new territory, and conquer it. Or mayhap she should say . . . conquer him. “You don’t scare me.”
He raised a brow. “Nay?”
Holding his gaze, she shook her head. The corners of his mouth tipped up in the beginnings of a smile. ’Twasn’t much, the twitch of his lips, a mere hint of amusement, but it unleashed something inside her. Now she wanted to reach out, bridge the distance and touch him. Run her fingers through the messy strands of his hair. Smooth each lock back into place, discover its softness, and mayhap even—goddess strike her dead for lustful thoughts—revisit his kiss and come to know his taste.
Wicked in so many ways. But oh so tempting too.
Heat bloomed in her cheeks. “Sorry I woke you.”
“You didn’t.” Eyes steady on her, he raised his hand. Flipping it palm up, he invited her to take it and come closer. Her breath caught as she accepted his invitation and slid her hand into his. With a murmur, he laced their fingers together and tugged. She didn’t resist the pull and, knees skimming over the sheet, settled alongside him. “I woke the instant you moved.”
“Oh,” she whispered, warming under his touch, enjoying his scrutiny.
Not hard to do. She liked his gaze on her. Enjoyed the attention and the way he looked at her, with eyes full of appreciation, but . . . gods. As much as she relished his nearness, the weight of his regard made her nervous too. The worst kind of needy, a condition she found difficult to explain. ’Twas unholy and delicious, curious and complex, bedeviling yet oh so compelling. The intensity of it picked her up, swept her along, tightening the muscles over her bones until her skin felt two sizes too small and . . .
Panic prickled through her.
Drat it all. Desire came with all kinds of complications. Not the least of which was instigation. Some sort of action, after all, was required. Let angst win and back away, or be brave and forge ahead. Option two appealed much more. She wanted him. Despite the craziness. Despite her nervousness. Despite everything. Her need for him wasn’t based in logic. Common sense had naught to do with it. ’Twas more of a feeling, the claw and rip of her Seer’s eye. Which begged a question, didn’t it? Was it premonition driven by her gift? Or instincts gone awry? Cosmina didn’t know. But as the silence expanded and she held his gaze, the pressure built inside her head, urging her forward into the uncertain, toward Henrik instead of away.
Butterflies lit off, taking flight across her abdomen. She shifted on her knees, pressing both to the side of Henrik’s thigh. The linen sheet rustled, joining the quiet crackle of the hearth. “You’re a light sleeper.”
“Very.”
“Probably a good thing and, ah . . . necessary. I mean, you can never be too careful, because you know, well . . .” Desperate to gain control of her nerves, she paused.
Patient as ever, Henrik raised a brow and waited for her to continue.
Which—blast it all—made her want to die of embarrassment. Or crawl under the nearest doormat and never come out. Cosmina smothered a grimace. Way to go. Brilliantly played . . . or not. Nothing like acting like a ninny. One who didn’t know what to say to the man she desired in her bed.
“Someone might . . . umm, you know . . . sneak up on you.” Nibbling on the inside of her lip, she forced herself to stay the course. But gods, it was hard not to squirm as his fingers slid between hers. Goose bumps snaked up her arm, making her shiver. “Or something.”
He stroked his thumb across her palm. “You can sneak up on me anytime, Cosmina.”
She frowned. Was that an invitation? Sounded like it, and yet, she couldn’t be sure. Had no way of knowing what he intended. Or how she ought to proceed. Be straightforward and hope for the best? Let the silence stretch until he took the lead? She didn’t know. And Henrik didn’t help her decide. Like a patient predator, he watched and waited for her next move.
Which needed to happen now—before she lost all sense of herself.
Mouth gone dry, she reached for courage. “Can I sneak up on you now?”
Interest sparked in his gaze. “Depends.”
“On what?”
“What you intend.”
Be brave, her mind whispered. Touch him now, desire urged.
Heeding both, Cosmina shook free of his hold and cupped his cheek. He made a gruff sound, one full of surprise as her fingers stroked along his jaw. Rough whiskers rasped against her skin. Prickles of pleasure ghosted up her arm, then turned tail, and cascaded over the tops of her shoulders. She murmured his name, the yearning hard to deny. She heard it in her voice. Felt it as he turned his face into her palm, seeking more of her touch. Her heart hopscotched, rebounding inside her chest as her other hand slid across his nape. Wonderment swirled. Goddess, his hair was soft. So thick. So incredibly dark against her pale skin.
His dark. Her light. A fair comparison.
In truth, it made perfect sense. He’d suffered. Had been caught in something terrible. Instinct and facts gathered by her unnatural talent told her so. She might not understand the extent of it, but as she caressed him—loving him with her hands, finding a place for him in her heart—certain knowledge wielded a heavy weight. Henrik was damaged, just like her. Abandoned. Cast out. Left for dead.
Which made them a sad but perfect fit. Two ruined halves making whole.
Empathy sank deep. Cosmina understood. She really did. He needed softness in his life in the same way she needed companionship and acceptance. She craved true freedom, the right to be herself without the heavy hand of judgment. The idea he might give her all of that made her bold. She wanted to be something other than cautious and afraid. Needed more than mistrust and distance. No worries for the future. No care for the consequences. No time for second-guessing either. Just commitment coupled with a passion so powerful it couldn’t be denied.
Tunneling through his hair, she turned his face toward her. His eyes met hers. She leaned in and touched her lips to the corner of his.