Page 91 of The Iron Flower

His words light me up, like flame to dry brush, his heat sweeping through me.

Yvan leans forward and brings his lips to mine—his mouth all softness and sensuous curves, at complete odds with the sharp angles of his face.

We kiss each other slowly at first, his kiss fervent and lingering. And then his kiss deepens, my mouth parting under his as his kiss roughens with desire, his fire sizzling down my lines. We kiss each other desperately, like two people starved for air who are finally able to draw a breath. I press myself against his hard body, wanting to be as close to him as I possibly can, and he responds eagerly.

“I’m falling in love with you, too,” I say breathlessly, pulling back a fraction, staring deeply into his eyes.

He brings his lips back to mine and kisses me passionately, his tongue finding mine as his fire rushes through me. My affinity lines give a hard, white-hot flare as my breath hitches, my body arching toward his.

Yvan’s fire pulses through me as he guides me gently onto my back, his long fingers stroking my hair as he rolls on top of me, the feel of him thrilling my entire body. I wrap my legs around his, his body welded to mine and moving against me with a provocative rhythm. He pushes my tunic slowly up, his fingers sliding under its edge to explore my skin underneath.

Somewhere in the background, a man’s gruff voice sings loudly and off-key, slurring the words to some tavern song. My lovely world abruptly shatters around the sound, like glass fracturing into a million pieces and quickly dissolving into the air.

Holy Ancient One, I’m dreaming!

I begin to slide out of my dream state, desperately trying to pull the image back together by sheer force of will—an impossibly intricate puzzle whose pieces are falling away, soon to be lost forever.

In its place is Yvan, sitting on a wooden chair next to the bed, staring at me intently. His face is serious and deeply unsettled, his arm resting on the frame of the window that looks out onto the street. In the background, the jarring voice continues to belch out fragments of a tune.

I prop myself up on my elbow, dazed, forcing myself to adjust to a diminished reality, the intimacy I’ve just shared with Yvan a complete illusion. A torrent of emotions floods through me, like black dye meeting white cloth—utter humiliation, loneliness, and a burning longing for him.

“I heard a man singing.” My voice comes out shy and groggy from sleep. “He woke me up.” I pray Yvan can’t decipher anything about my dream from my voice or posture.

His face tenses, and he glances toward the window. “He’s drunk. Seems to be quieting down, though.” Yvan looks back at me, his brow tightly furrowed.

“Did he wake you, too?” My voice is almost a whisper.

“No.” Yvan glances down and shakes his head. Then he looks back up and locks his eyes on to mine. “You did.”

I gulp. “I did?” The words come out faint and strained. “Was I snoring?”

“You talk in your sleep.”

We’re both uncomfortably quiet for a long moment.

“What did I say?” I whisper, mortified.

He averts his gaze. “You said my name a few times.”

My stomach drops, the blood draining from my face. “Oh.” I can hardly take a breath. “Did I say anything else?”

He’s looking anywhere but at me. “I don’t want to embarrass you.”

“Too late.”

He turns back to face me. “You said, ‘I’m falling in love with you.’”

I roll onto my back and cover my face with my hands, wanting to disappear. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” His voice is tight, but kind.

“I can’t control what I dream about.” I drop my hands from my face and let them rest on my abdomen. I stare up at the swaying cobwebs as a single tear falls from my eye and I reach up to wipe it away.

“I get lonely sometimes,” I say simply. Another tear falls, cold on my face.

“I understand,” he says, his voice low and thick with emotion.

“When I saw you that night with Iris...” He winces slightly at the hurt in my tone, and I regret the words immediately, feeling petty and vulnerable. “You have a long history with her, don’t you?”

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