Page 92 of Fate

Which must have been his aim, because he glanced at her.

And smirked.

Which was absolutely intolerable. This was not a game she was prepared for, did not know how to win. If victory came at the denial, or if it came from conquest. Her bond suggested the latter. Suggested it with a sudden flare of warmth that spread and thrummed with such ferocity it left her breathless.

“Is this because I left you alone to tend to the kitchen?” She plucked the book out of his hands because if he was going to touch something, it would be her. She did not throw it, but shoved it under her pillows, then turned her attention back to her mate. “Is this what I am to look forward to when you miss me?”

He rolled his shoulders and looked entirely too at ease while she...

Wanted.

“Perhaps.”

Insufferable.

That’s what he was.

Teasing when he should be apologising.

Looking at her if he might simply lie there while she would push herself over him and do as she pleased.

Not tonight.

That would be her compromise. They might love, but he did not get to lie there and be lazy while she took her fill.

He could pursue her.

Whisper sweet words into her skin if that’s what he wanted from her.

Not be wretched and then lie there waiting for her to take her fill. Be the one to seduce and...

She got out of the bed. Wasn’t cross. Honest. Not about the book, and not about talk of their first night. Of his feelings when hers mattered as well. And there was far more to object to about that night than who began the first seduction.

She unbuttoned her tunic. Negotiated it about wings and arms, and tried not to be frustrated by either. It wasn’t in any sort of alluring way, just the shucking of cloth that most certainly needed a good soak. The cabinets had been grubby, but she’d seen to that. Seen to much more than that. And if he missed her like she suspected he did, he might have come down to help rather than poke about in her private things, making herthinkof private things when she was not in the mood to do anything about them.

Movement caught her eye, and she saw Lucian had also removed his shirt.

Then eased back against the bedclothes.

Calm.

Waiting.

Her mouth twisted, and she saw to the bindings about her breasts, unwrapping the loosely pinned cloth and adding it to her pile.

Let him look. He certainly would not touch them. That would mean getting off the bed and fetching her, and he seemed content to lie there and stare. Which really was infuriating.

She should take to the washroom and deprive him the view. But she’d already washed her face and hands and tended to her teeth, so it seemed far too much bother for a simple tiff between them.

Her hands moved to her waistband, the little drawstring that held them in place. Not her finest clothing, by far, but practical. She pulled at the string, and she could not account for why she did so, but her eyes shifted just enough to see that Lucian mimicked that motion as well. The pull of the cord. The graceless yank and pull as she allowed them to drop—while he looked even more ridiculous as he shimmied free while still in his reclined position.

“What are you doing?” she asked, utterly exasperated.

“Preparing for bed,” Lucian answered easily. They were down to their small-clothes, and she wondered if he would shed that as well if she did.

“How exactly do you imagine your sleep clothes will reach you from over there?” she asked, quirking her brow. “Or have you some talents you have not cared to share with me?”

She hadn’t heard him move. Which was unsettling, to say the least. Made her jump when his hands were suddenly at her waist, when he could bring his mouth toward her ear.

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