Page 64 of Song of the Dark Wood

Confusion stole over her face. “Then why do you hate it?”

“Because I can never tell if you really want to or if you feel obligated to.”

She looked as surprised by his vulnerability as he was. Now it seemed she had the power to pull emotions out of him he hadn’t ever expressed. If he had any sense at all, he would leave immediately.

“Don’t you just want to kiss me because I smell delicious?” she countered.

“You look delicious as well,” he said. His gaze dropped to her lips, and her cheeks turned bright red. “Especially when you blush like that.”

She bit her lip and looked away. Conor hated that she shied away from compliments. It didn’t suit someone with so much fire to be so demure.

“Do you?” he asked, prowling closer. “Do you actually want to kiss me?”

She nodded, and he couldn’t drag his gaze from the indentation her teeth left on her lower lip.

“Why?” he pressed.

“I like the way it feels.”

“And how does it feel?” He wrapped a stray auburn curl around his finger.

“Wild,” she murmured.

“That’s a good thing?”

She met his eyes and swallowed hard. “It’s the only thing in my life that’s ever been unrestrained—the only time I’ve let go.”

Conor was so done for. Rowan couldn’t have said anything else that would make him more ravenous for her. He practically pounced on her, kissing her almost violently before shoving her back against the bookcase. Her lips parted in a gasp, and he used the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth. She sighed as he tugged her hair, tilting her chin up more. One hand caressed her outer thigh and drew her leg up over his hip as he rocked against her. Her hands tugged at his waist, drawing him in.

It wasn’t enough for either of them, so he grabbed her thighs and lifted her. She wrapped her legs around his waist. Her hands threaded through his hair with a roughness to match his, and he loved it. She dragged her teeth over his lower lip, and he groaned.

Conor wanted to claim her so badly it hurt. He had a primal instinct to take her right there, and the thought of fucking herup against the bookshelves made him even harder. If her current reaction was any indication, she’d probably love it. He cupped one of her breasts, and she arched into the touch.

“Do you like that?” Conor whispered against her lips.

“Yes,” she rasped between kisses.

He rolled his hips against her, and she met the motion with her own. He growled. He was losing control. He needed to fuck her or leave immediately.

“I love everything you’re doing. Please don’t stop,” Rowan whimpered.

Conor cursed and pulled away so abruptly she stumbled and nearly fell as he set her back on her feet.

She stared up at him, her cheeks flushed, lips swollen, hair a tumbled mess. “What did I?—”

He didn’t let her finish the question. He tore out of the room and into the east wing before she could follow. He flew through the corridor, his footsteps echoing against the tall ceilings. He rushed into his music room and slammed the door behind him.

He sat down at the piano and played furiously through loud, discordant pieces that drew out his rage. He jammed his fingers down on the keys, avenging himself against his lack of composure. It didn’t quite work because he wasn’t really angry. He was simply in turmoil, and once he burned through the little bit of frustration, he’d have to confront something much more significant.

In the past, he simply played what he felt. Where his words failed him, music was the way thought and memory and emotion poured out of him, seemingly effortlessly.

So Conor took a breath and played what he felt. It was violently unpredictable, sweeping, and dissonant before it crescendoed in an invigorating swell of sweetness. It was hard to put a melody to the utter chaos that filled him every time he laid eyes on Rowan Cleary.

The woman was a harbinger of destruction, and he wanted nothing more than to turn and run from her disarray. Instead, the magic that flowed through him seemed intent on drawing him into her orbit, burning everything he’d worked so hard for to the ground. He thought that part of him—the part that could care beyond duty—was gone centuries ago. He’d razed the bit of humanity that existed within him and salted the earth that allowed anything but mild affection to grow in his cold, barren heart.

And yet Rowan had managed to grow roots in a dark place where nothing else would. No matter how he twisted and turned, she shined a light into every fissure in him. It was maddening.

He played until his fingers cramped and his back ached and he’d sweat through his tunic.

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