Page 71 of A Game of Love and Betrayal

He’d rather die.

Instead of releasing Brynleigh, his fingers crawled up her wrist. He encircled her, noting the hitch of her breath as his fingers wrapped around her.

He was a starving man, and every touch she allowed gave him life.

Seconds ticked by. Minutes? Hours? He couldn’t be sure. His entire existence was focused on this one gentle caress.

It was at once too much and not at all enough.

“Ry.” The nickname was a whispered supplication as it slipped from her lips.

It sent a bolt of desire through him. He shifted in his seat, subtly adjusting himself. Had he wanted her before? Now, he needed her.

Ryker’s dreams had not done her justice. He’d never been one for hand-holding, but he never wanted to let her go. His thumb brushed gentle circles over the slow beating pulse on the inside of her wrist.

“Hi,” was all he could manage. It wasn’t eloquent, but there was no room for that right now.

Several long seconds went by in silence. Was this simple touch shaking the core of her foundation as much as it was his? He’d never imagined something so small could be so life-changing.

She breathed, “I?—”

The door opened with a bang, shattering the moment between them.

Brynleigh jerked her hand away from Ryker as though she’d been burned.

Barely holding in a groan, Ryker turned his head towards whoever had interrupted them. “Yes?” His voice was curt. He couldn’t help it. He was finally in the same room as Brynleigh. He didn’t want to waste a single moment of their time together.

Wheels creaked as something moved along the floor.

“I’ve brought your dinner, sir,” said a small, meek voice. He hadn’t heard it before and assumed it belonged to one of the many humans employed to keep the mansion running.

Their food. Of course. He’d forgotten all about it.

Ryker sighed and raked his hand through his hair. “Thank you.”

Porcelain chinked as the server placed several items on the table, working silently.

“Chef has prepared several dishes for you this evening,” the server said. “He recommends eating with your hands and discovering the food as you go.”

“Oh, no,” Brynleigh whispered. The words, though short, were filled with horror.

Ryker’s eyes widened beneath his blindfold. What was wrong?

“Miss?” the server asked.

She cleared her throat, and her chair creaked. “I just… I don’t exactly eat… food.”

Blood rushed to Ryker’s cheeks. By the Black Sands, how could he have made such a monumental mistake? He’d somehow forgotten this crucial fact about vampires.

He was a fucking idiot.

Thank the gods, it seemed the chef wasn’t as obtuse as Ryker.

“Not to worry,” said the server. “Chef has whipped up several vampire-friendly dishes. He took the liberty of lacing them with blood for you, and they’re the ones I placed closest to you.”

At least someone had their head on straight around here.

“That’s so thoughtful,” Brynleigh replied after a moment. “Honestly, I didn’t expect this. Thank you.”

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