Page 12 of Safe in Shadow
Wouldn’t harm her.
Grace stirred and shifted, kicking off the covers and pulling at the mat of thick, tangled blonde hair on her pillow.
I’m making her hot. Too hot for blankets.
Nyx grabbed the edge of the sheet and went to drag it back over her naked body, but he stopped. Hesitating.
Wouldn’t hurt to look for just a few minutes. She’s beautiful. Like art. Yes. Like art.
But curiosity overwhelmed finer feelings—and even his baser ones. Could he touch her? Move her?
Like spilled ink, he trickled under the bed, only emerging halfway. If she woke up with a scream, Nyx doubted that she would see him, blackness wrapped in darkness, but out of caution, he would vanish underneath, out of sight. Grace would think she’d had a nightmare, and he’d know better next time.
Head, shoulders, and torso rose, long and lean. Grace had rolled on her side so that she seemed to be facing him, although she was unaware of her audience.
A pretty face with a firm, angular chin and a short, rounded nose. A strong, stubborn face, that’s what he’d call it.
Her body was probably too muscular to be what the men of his time liked, but of course, many men of his time never got toseea body until the wedding night. They had to base their assumptions on what they could see through layers of corsets, petticoats, and stockings—and brassiers could be stuffed and bustles padded.
Grace’s breasts were small, soft-looking handfuls the size of under-ripe apples. The curve of her hip where it pushed out into the hill of her rear was divine.
Nyx ran a finger down her arm, and she didn’t stir. Nor did she move when his hand closed around hers and lifted it, moving it slowly and gently to rest on her hip.
She’s mine, too. How? How can she be mine?
His hand moved a damp curl from her cheek and lingered where he could feel her slow, warm breath tickling his fingers.
It’s like she’s bound herself to this place somehow. She didn’t know she was binding herself to me, too.
I don’t care how. What do I do?
Banish her? Play with her?
Finally, a treasure worth owning, a single boon in this prison.
Nyx rested his head on his hand for a moment. Why should he rush her off? He hadn’t had anything so pretty to look at in a long, long time, and none of the others who came to visit were pleased to be here.
But if she makes this place livable, people will come, the building will be maintained, and it might last another hundred years. Even longer! I’ll never be free.
She moaned softly in her sleep and stretched, rolling into his touch.
Damn it.
A day won’t make a difference.
His finger brushed over her face. Over her slightly parted lips.
Lower, across her shoulders and her chest, stopping just above her breasts.
So beautiful.
But I shouldn’t touch any—
Nyx found his thoughts halted when Grace rolled again, breast butting into his palm.
He moved back like he was burned, whisking under the bed when he heard her sleepy, startled “Mm?”
Oh, no. Oh, no, no. What am I? What am I becoming?
