Page 90 of Spark of Madness

“What do you want?”

“I want to help you.”

“This time is meant to be mine. Can’t you allow me some moments of peace before it begins?”

“That’s why I’m here.”

My brows furrow as my eyes narrow, and I spin to face him, meeting the perfect blue pools of his eyes with intensity. “You’re presumptuous to think I can’t find peace on my own. Do you think I can find a moment’s peace with you? When I look at you, all I feel is fury.”

It’s true that I feel something intense when I look at him, though perhaps fury isn’t the right word. If it isn’t, then I don’t know what other word to use in its place.

“I know I hurt you,” he says, his gloved hand reaching up to tuck my shortened hair behind my ear.

The mere presence of his touch coaxes my head to tilt toward his hand, and he cups my cheek. I want to lift away, but I don’t—I can’t.

“I went too far with you, and I hurt you. But let me help you now.”

“How could you possibly help me now? Do you understand what I’m about to go through? The pain, the shame, the horror I’m about to experience at the hand of your brothers in God?”

His jaw ticks. “You sinned, and it’s your penance.”

Fury is certainly the right word now. I lift my head from his palm, raise my dress at my thighs to keep from tripping, and move away from him. I walk across the room and stop at the end of the bed, reaching out to wrap my hand around one of its four posts.

I feel him at my back moments later, not touching me, but there all the same. He’s so close I can feel the heat of him, and my fingers tighten their grip around the post.

“It’s your penance, Mercy, but I still care about you…and I want to see you through this. Let me see you through this.”

I turn my head over my shoulder to look at him, but I don’t lift my eyes to meet his. I’m not even sure what to say to him right now, let alone what I would do if I let myself search for sincerity in his perfect blue eyes.

He steps closer, his heat rushing into my back. Delicately, his fingers play at the zipper of my dress where it touches the nape of my neck, resting over the seven scars marking me for the trials. I breathe slowly as he draws the zipper down. I see no sense in stopping him because I’ll have to undress all the same.

But also...

My pulse quickens, my spine shudders, my breaths deepen at his touch.

The dress falls open as his fingers reach the top of my underwear. With my head still turned over my shoulder, I see him work to remove his gloves, and my lips part with anticipation of his next move.

I hate him and everything he stands for.

I hate that I can’t force myself to loathe him.

I hate myself for feeling anything at all in his presence.

“I know you found some moments of peace with me in the cavern.”

His bare palms flatten against my back, slipping up from the center beneath the split fabric, then grazing over my shoulders and pushing the sleeves down my arms. My shoulders shrug with tension at his touch—tension for the fear of it, tension for the desire of it.

His fingers trail down my arms as he pushes off the long sleeves, his touch trailing down my skin. Then his hands fall to my hips, nudging the tight gown over my curves and shoving it to the floor.

Lifting my hand to grip the bed post again, I step out of the ring of fabric dropped at my feet, and he kicks it aside before coming in closer, closing the distance between us. I startle at the way he invades my space so completely, so quickly, his warm hands slipping up my sides and stopping just beneath my breasts.

He pulls me back against him and sweeps his nose through my hair. I feel him breathe me in, and it’s as though he inhales all my tension, taking it away from me and letting it seep inside him to unburden me.

I can’t trust him.

This man has hurt me. He’s used me. He’s sinned and asked me to keep the secret for him. Arlo Rainn is not a good man—he’s just not.

So why does my pain slip away whenever I fallinto his arms?

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