Page 175 of Primal Bonds

Still, he’d been sending some very definite signals. Last night he’d all but said he’d like to fuck her.

“Maybe.” He looked back at his granola. “But I don’t get there much.”

Well, there was her answer. She’d read his signals wrong. But she couldn’t leave it alone. “What about Evie? Don’t you ever visit her?”

“Every few years or so. She’s better off without me.”

She frowned. She couldn’t understand a father feeling like that. “I bet she doesn’t think so.”

He finished his coffee and set it on the small table between them. “Trust me, she is,” he said in a tone that didn’t invite further questions.

She took the hint and fell silent, concentrating on her breakfast. When she finished the granola, she reached for a peach. It was small but perfectly formed. The first bite sent a tart burst of flavor into her mouth.

She gave a hum of pleasure. “That’s so good. It tastes like it was just picked.”

“We grow them here.”

Fane’s gaze was on her mouth. Her heart sped up.

“In Iceland?” she managed to ask.

“There’s a huge conservatory on the south side of the castle. The king invited a couple of dryads to live here when their trees were young, and they’ve grown up in the conservatory. They grow things year-round—fruit, vegetables.”

She nodded and took another bite of her peach. Dryads were famous for their green thumbs.

Fane was still looking at her mouth. Her lips tingled. She swallowed the bite. “What?”

He leaned forward. “You have peach juice—here.” He touched the corner of her mouth, brushing the juice away with his thumb.

“Thanks.” His eyes were so beautiful with that dark fringe of eyelashes, like a clear pool surrounded by lush vegetation.

Cool fingers caught her chin.

She stilled. In the past year, no man but her brother had touched her.

The fear was there, but her hunger for touch was stronger. Fane took the half-eaten peach and set it on the table, then stood up, drawing her with him.

She raised her eyes to his. He was a good foot taller than her. He might not be a fada, but the man had muscles. In a bare-handed fight between the two of them, he might just be able to win.

She braced herself for a wave of panic, but her cat gave a happy little rumble. It wanted to rub up against him, roll in his grass-green scent like catnip.

And even the human part of her recalled how he’d held her last night when she’d needed it.

“We have some time to kill.” His husky voice vibrated in her body.

“Yes.”

He trailed the backs of his fingers over her cheek. “I know something bad happened to you.”

She growled, a harsh, feral sound. Knowing her anger was misplaced—she wasn’t pissed off at him, she was angry at the men who’d attacked her—but unable to help it.

“What do you know about it?”

“Hey.” He stroked her nape. “Fine—we won’t talk about that. But I’m going to kiss you, all right?”

“I—” She moistened her lips, and his eyes tracked the movement. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean?”

---