Page 26 of Can't Get No Satyrfaction

His eyes snapped to hers, widening slightly like he hadn’t considered the sleeping arrangements. A flash of heat darkened those green depths before he jerked his gaze away.

“I don’t sleep much.”

She arched an eyebrow at the obvious lie, fighting back a grin. For someone so stoic, he was remarkably bad at deception. She sauntered towards him, taking a great deal of pleasure in the way his eyes heated as she approached.

“There are other uses for a bed, you know.”

He growled and started to reach for her, then his fists clenched and he took another step backwards. So he wanted to pretend that what had happened hadn’t rocked both their worlds. That he hadn’t claimed her with a hunger that still made her knees weak. That she couldn’t still taste him on her tongue and feel the lingering ache of his possession. Fine. She could play that game too.

“Besides,” she said, her tone light, “I’ll probably spend all my time outside. It’s so beautiful here, I want to capture every inch. Your home, this forest, you. Everything.”

His eyes snapped to hers at the last word, and heat flared between them. She held his gaze, letting him see the desire coursing through her. He swallowed hard and then tore his eyes away and she grinned. Point to her.

“On film, of course,” she added innocently as she moved over to the polished wood table and opened her camera bag. She’d dropped it when he backed her against the tree, but fortunately it was well-padded and nothing had been damaged. “I might as well get some shots of the forest while I’m here.”

His head whipped towards her so fast she heard his neck crack. Those green eyes darkened, pupils dilating like a cat’s. “It’s not safe.”

“I thought you were going to deal with the poachers.” She kept her voice light, casual, even as her heart hammered against her ribs.

His jaw clenched, muscles working beneath his beard. For a moment, she thought he might forbid her leaving. But then his gaze dropped to her mouth, lingering just long enough to send heat coursing through her veins.

He looked away quickly, but not before she caught the flash of desire in his eyes.

“I’ll figure something out,” he muttered, and finally entered the cabin, moving past her to the fireplace and building a fire with quick, efficient movements.

She paced the cabin’s perimeter, inspecting the smooth curves where branches turned into walls. Everything about the space felt alive, as if the trees themselves had decided to shelter its occupant. When she paused to admire a particularly artful branch, a tiny flower sprang up in a crevice of the branch.A quick glance over the shoulder revealed that he was still bent over the fire. That was interesting. Could the wood be responding to her?

She stroked a careful finger across the delicate petals and the flower released a delicate fragrance. She smiled and continued exploring, finally pausing in front of a shelf lined with leather-bound books. One of them caught her eye—an illustrated guide to local plants, its pages dog-eared and well-worn.

She settled onto the surprisingly comfortable sofa, the book heavy in her lap. The pages fell open to detailed sketches of healing herbs, notes scrawled in the margins in a bold, slanting hand. His handwriting. She traced the letters, imagining his fingers marking these same pages.

But she couldn’t focus on the words. He’d finished with the fire and settled at the table, his big body bent over whatever document he was examining, his shoulders rigid. Her skin tingled with awareness. Every breath felt charged, like the air before a storm. He hadn’t looked at her once since they’d entered the cabin, but she felt his nearness like a physical touch.

The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy with everything unsaid. Their lovemaking burned in her memory—the heat of his mouth, the strength of his hands, the way he’d pressed her against the tree like he couldn’t get close enough.

And now this wall of silence.

She couldn’t take it any longer.

“Having regrets?” she asked, doing her best to keep her voice light.

“No!” he burst out immediately, his eyes focusing on her face with that hungry intensity that made her breath catch. “I mean…”

“You mean what?”

She put the book aside and went to join him, moving as cautiously as if she were approaching a wounded animal. His fists were clenching again, as if he were trying to prevent himself from reaching for her. She laid a careful hand on his arm, feeling the coiled tension in his muscles beneath his smooth skin.

“It shouldn’t have happened,” he said finally, his gaze fixed on her hand on his arm. “Not until you know… everything.”

“What do I need to know?” she asked softly, sliding into the chair beside him. She wanted to be closer, but sensed he needed the illusion of distance.

“About me.” His voice was hoarse, strained.

Her fingers tightened on his arm and she waited, holding her breath.

“I’m a satyr.”

He said the words as if they were torn from him and she blinked. That… was not what she’d been expecting.

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