Page 90 of Burning Crowns

She frowned. ‘He doesn’t have me.’

‘Are you sure about that?’

‘Don’t patronize me.’

He huffed a humourless laugh. ‘The truth is bitter.’

‘Youare bitter.’

‘Yes,’ he said, his voice rueful. ‘That is another truth.’

‘I don’t want him,’ said Wren, pressing the point. The silence swelled, and she hated every second of it. ‘You have no idea what I want.’

He cocked his head, looking at her for a long moment as if he was trying to figure out who she truly was. Then he sighed, and it was as if something inside him shifted. Something gave up. ‘The trouble is, Wren, neither do you.’

This time when he turned from her, Wren knew it was over. The sudden fear of losing Tor was like a knife in her gut. She couldn’t stand the idea of it, couldn’t stomach the sight of his back as he walked away.

‘I know what I want!’ she called after him.

He kept walking.

She lunged, grabbing his hand. ‘Did you hear me? I said I know what I want!’

He turned, achingly slow. His gaze found hers, and this time there was a spark of lightning in it. A challenge. Or perhaps, a plea. ‘Prove it.’

Wren grabbed him with the desperation of a drowning woman, ripping the buttons on his shirt as she pulled his body against hers. He yielded, reluctantly, and she raised her chin, claiming his lips with hers. The kiss was short, tentative.

‘Please,’ she whispered against his mouth.

‘Are you sure this time?’ he whispered back.

She kissed him again, brushing her tongue against his, showing him just how sure she was. ‘Can’t you taste it?’

He groaned into her mouth, his resolve crumbling. Wren rose to her tiptoes and wound her arms around his neck, tugging him closer. He raked his hands through her hair, holding her still as he lavished her with a kiss so deep and ragged, she lost her breath.

They melted into each other, their soaked bodies pressed together so tightly not even the wind could come between them. The raging heat of their desire chased the chill from their bones, and as the last of their hurt washed away with the water, they both found themselves smiling between kisses.

When the dampness finally seeped into Wren’s skin and she began to shiver, they surrendered their embrace. ‘We should go to bed,’ she said, between breaths. ‘We’ll catch our deaths out here.’

Tor brushed the strands from her eyes. ‘I’m afraid a head cold is one of the few things I cannot protect you from.’

‘You seem truly bereft about that,’ said Wren, taking his hand.

‘I am,’ he said, falling into step with her.

When they reached the door to her bedchamber, she lingered on the threshold. ‘Stay with me a while. We can keep each other warm.’

He leaned against the door frame, his teeth winking in the dimness. ‘Are you frightened of the big, bad mountain, Wren?’

‘What if Alarik tries to kill me with a soup spoon?’

‘It’s more likely he’ll come for me next,’ said Tor.

She frowned, recalling the unfortunate circumstances of the king’s concussion. ‘You should probably go and deal with that.’

With great reluctance, Tor stepped back into the hall. ‘Let’s hope he’s in a forgiving mood.’

‘Then I really will be worried.’

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