Page 147 of The Second Death of Locke
“Grey…”
She looked away then, letting her hands fall into his lap. He put his own over hers. “I want to be clear,” she said. “This isyourhouse, Kier. Not mine. I will not come here unless you invite me. It is your place, and yours alone. I cannot give you your freedom back, but I can give you your space.”
He was quiet for a moment. When she looked up, she found him studying her face. He moved his thumb to tilt her chin up, bringing his magelight closer so he could see every detail of her face. Then he shifted, kneeling carefully in front of her. He traced his fingers across her collarbone—she was unable to suppress her shiver—and bent to kiss her, very gently.
“Will you stay the night, if I ask it?”
“That defeats the purpose of your own house.”
He nudged his nose against hers. “What if I ask very, very nicely?”
“Yes.”
Another soft kiss, like the press of his golden light. “And we don’t have to go to your party?”
She smiled, feeling his lips curve up in response. “Ourparty,” she said, her fingers moving up his sides and across his chest, skimming over the details of his coat. “I might have… already asked Imarta to give our regrets, if they didn’t see us in half an hour,” she admitted.
Kier laughed, his eyes sparkling. “Oh, Locke,” he said, moving his hands to grip her waist, his fingers digging in between the boning of her corset. “Your foresight remains astonishing, as always.”
She kissed his nose. “The nation of Locke accepts your compliments, but suggests you support your declarations with action, Commander.”
He twined his fingers through hers. “And am I not Locke, too?” he asked, the barest hint of hesitation in his voice.
“If you wish it?” she asked. She did not dare to hope.
That hesitation did not fade. “Ifyouwish it.”
Far below, the waves crashed on the rocks, the sea rushing against the dark cliffs of the iron isle. She skimmed her fingers across his cheek, searching his face, the grin spreading across hers before she could stop it. “That you are, Locke,” she said.
