Page 82 of Ruthless Scoundrel
I swallow hard. “I only want to see what’s really lurking beneath the surface.”
He pushes me away but holds my hand tight as he spins me around and around. My dress flutters over my legs and the sensation has me hyper aware of my sensitive skin. When he pulls me back into him, his hand falls tightly on my lower back. He presses us together hard enough for me to feel just how much he wants me.
“I want the truth,” I whisper.
He cradles me as we dip down, my hair sliding off my shoulders and exposing my neck. His eyes brighten and he groans as his lips draw nearer.
“After this dance,” he says.
His kiss slips over my pulse point and my heart ratchets up to a new beat. Not the one of the song, or the speed of the dance, but something entirely in tune with Jasper and the way he makes me feel. A way I didn’t know I could ever—orshouldever—feel.
I’m a princess of Fynren. I’m the rebellion’s weapon. I’m not allowed to let the fluttering in my stomach blossom into something bigger. I’m not allowed to let my heart lead me, especially when the destination is both mad and impossible.
Jasper pulls us out of the dip and whirls us again. I don’t hear the music anymore. I don’t care if we’re not dancing to the beat because what matters is that he’s holding me like I’m the greatest treasure. He’s looking at me as if I’m the sun in his darkness. He’s adoring me with every fiber of his being, and I don’t want to stop myself from giving it all back to him exactly the same way.
I remind myself that is both mad and impossible.
I slacken my hold on Jasper, and he leads us to a stop. Finally, I’m able to look away from him. The men and women around the campfire have been watching all the dancers, but I feel their eyesdart away from me the second my gaze falls on them. It’s as if they can hear my secret, feel my will to keep my honor slipping away bit by bit.
How could I come to care for the man—selkie—who stole me from my home and my purpose?
Jasper cups my cheek and turns my face back toward him. His eyes are dim now, their normal dark color, and filled with concern. “What is it?”
“I’m tired,” I say with an innocent shrug, desperate to hide myself and my thoughts, begging that none of them will slip out.
He smiles. “Then let me take you to bed,wife.”
The word sends an undeniable shock through my body to my core. It’s just our cover, it’s not real, but the way it sounds coming from him…it does something to me. Something I don’t want to deny.
I nod and Jasper tucks me under his arm as we leave the firelight behind. We wind through the other travelers toward our tent until we’re clear, and then Jasper leans down and pulls me up into his arms.
“I can walk,” I say, none of the fire I want to feel coming out in my words.
“But a good husband wouldn’t make you,” he says, and I feel he means those words much deeper than our make-believe cover story.
He kneels at the opening to our tent, resting my butt on his thigh as he unlaces my boots.
“I can take off my own shoes,” I say, holding onto his shoulder to keep myself steady.
“A good husband doesn’t mind doing it for you.”
My heart flips around in my chest. I can’t let it. I can’t allow myself to be pulled under his spell. I need to keep him whereIwant him. Needing me, but not too close.
“You don’t have to do these things.” I cup his cheek and turn his face up to mine. “You’re not my husband.”
His eyebrows pull together in a flicker of what looks like real hurt, and then he smiles. “I am right now, and I won’t have anyone questioning how good of one I am.”
He pulls off my boots and sets them just inside our tent. I hold onto his shoulders as he carries me in, stopping with his feet at the flap so he can kick off his own boots. He sets me on the blankets and then grabs one of our magus crystals dangling from a string overhead. His magic flows into it, and the gem comes alive with light and color. He lights two more, their orange and red hues soft enough to fall asleep by, but bright enough to see one another.
I tuck my knees up to my chest as he sits beside me. “Answers now?”
He sighs. “When I was eleven, Men came for my tribe. They took or slaughtered everyone but me. I was able to hide as an octopus, as my mother ordered. She made me promise to save them.”
The music goes on outside the tent, a distant backdrop to his story.
“The man responsible calls himself a king of the southern islands, Erik Vansen. Illya has tried several times to disrupt his false reign, but because of my family, they’ve failed. He uses their magic to change the seas, damage the boats, and worse. I tried to stop it, to stop them…” He shakes his head, pain knitting his brow.
I place my hand on his arm just to let him know I’m here, that I’m listening.
