Pressing closer and closer, we act like we aren’t in Ranhold Castle where any number of people could be watching, but in a private void of our own making, a place where nothing else exists.
His mouth skims past my cheekbone, just below my ear, hot breath breezed against the sensitive skin. My hands tighten against the railing on either side of me, and I don’t dare move, not with my thighs already squeezing his hips, not when all I want to do is turn my head and fuse my lips against his.
“Tell a truth for a truth,” he murmurs, voice pebbling my skin.
“Or keep a secret for a secret,” I finish.
A hot tongue darts out, brined with the salt of my tear, and I have to suppress a moan. The dangerous pinch of his teeth land against my neck, making my head tilt in precarious invitation.
His hand moves until he’s cupping my jaw like he’s ready to drink right from my lips.
“Tell me, Auren.”
Fear widens my eyes, clearing some of the lusty haze. It hammers my heart, makes my mouth go dry. His words seem simple, but he’s asking for everything. If I give in, if I speak out, there will be no going back.
He’s a male. A king. Someone with secrets and plans. I don’t want to repeat my mistakes, and I’m terrified of getting hurt again.
A tortured whisper drizzles out with the shake of my head. “I can’t.”
Disappointment drenches us both.
For a long moment, we just look at each other, soaking in dreary regret.
And then Rip pulls away, leaving me to sway, to roll without roots.
“Let’s get you to your room,” he says.
I can only nod, unable to look him in the eye for fear of what I’ll see there.
In the span of a breath, his warmth, his intimate touch, it’s gone. The openness, the softness, they’re replaced by cold detachment, so remote that it’s like we’re suddenly a world apart.
The distance is agonizing.
Chapter 16
AUREN
Rip plucks me off the railing. His hold is different now, like he’s mentally already let go. His touch withdrawn.
I hate it.
I hate that I hate it.
I hate that this is so hard. So confusing. So terrifying.
My bottom lip quivers, but I bite down on it. Regret blooms in the pit of my stomach, festering and weighty. Yet I’m too terrified of this constant pull between us, too scared of making the wrong call. His words and touches have left me with a clamor, the ruckus too deafening to think through.
Rip isn’t Midas, I know that. So far, he’s never used me, even when it would’ve benefited him. So maybe deep down I’m fighting that notion, that fear I have that he’ll hurt me like Midas did. Which is why I hear myself admitting, “I don’t choose him. Not anymore. I’m choosing me.”
Rip’s stride falters for a single footstep. Just a breadth of boot over the carpeted runner beneath his feet, but I feel it when my words stick to his soles. But then his steps resume, sure and steady, no reply forthcoming, and I wonder if maybe I imagined it.
All too soon, or maybe after way too long, we’re outside my door. Scofield is there with another guard I don’t recognize.
“My lady?” he asks, eyes going wide. “What—”
“Lady Auren fell on the stairs,” Rip explains. “I’m taking her inside.”
Scofield tries to address me again, but Rip fits the key into the lock and carries me inside without missing a beat or giving the guards a chance to do anything. With a kick to the door, he closes it behind us, eyes sweeping the darkening room, the fire nearly gone out.