Page 38 of Midnight Conquest

Warm breath fanned her skin, and then his body aligned to hers, solid heat pressing into her back. One hand ghosted over her waist, the other resting at her hip. She went still as the firm ridge of his arousal pressed against her.

“Nicabar,” she whispered, breath trembling.

He hummed low, the sound curling around her like a caress.

Her breath stuttered as he guided her backward, hands firm and sure, maneuvering her away from the crowd and into the shadows behind the wagon. The pulse of drums and laughter dulled, muffled by the vardo’s painted wooden walls, but the fire of Nicabar’s body—his breath at her ear, the teasing brush of his lips—burned away everything else.

Rosselyn turned to face him, her back pressing into the wagon. Nicabar’s hands slid slowly up her arms, each stroke measured, a caress meant to linger. His dark eyes captured hers,molten with longing and restraint as his thumb traced the curve of her jaw.

“It has been far too long,” he murmured, his voice rough with need.

“Far too long,” she echoed, her voice trembling against his.

He leaned in, brushing his lips over hers—a kiss so tender, so devastatingly sweet, it stole the air from her lungs. She melted into him, hands gliding over the firm planes of his chest, clutching at his shirt as if to anchor herself to the moment. The kiss deepened, months of separation unraveling in the press of lips, the tangle of fingers in hair, the tilt of her head as he claimed her more fully.

Rosselyn gasped when his body pressed tighter to hers, his heat consuming. Her fingers curled into his shoulders, grounding herself as the kiss spun into something darker, more desperate. She needed him. All of him.

Nicabar broke the kiss first, his forehead resting against hers, breath ragged between them.

“Rosselyn,” he rasped, voice hoarse with desire. “Do you want to come to my vardo?”

She looked up, her lips swollen from his mouth, her eyes smoldering. “I thought you’d never ask.”

A slow, wicked smile curved his lips—one that made her knees weak.

He kissed her again, deeper this time, then took her hand and led her toward the wagon. The firelight faded behind them.

After the lads and their antics walked away from the tent, Broderick lingered beside the vardo, his gaze fixed on the shadows. The night was thick with laughter, wine, and longing—but none of it dulled the biting edge left by Davina’s earlier rejection. Her voice had sliced through his charm like a fine rapier, cold and dismissive. But he’d seen the truth in her eyes. Felt the heat simmering beneath her words. She’d wanted him.

He could still smell it on her.

A low growl vibrated in his throat. She was flame and steel, and he hadn’t yet decided whether he meant to tame her—or let her burn him alive.

Movement flickered in the dark.

A cloaked figure stepped from the gloom, her gait slow, calculated. The breeze shifted, carrying the unmistakable scent of rose oil, blood, and something uniquely hers. His muscles tensed, pulse quickening.

Davina.

Broderick’s arms folded as he leaned against the wagon, his smile slow and feral. “Changed yer mind about my offer, lass?”

She stopped just shy of his reach, the hood casting her face in shadow. “I’d like a palm reading.”

His chuckle was low and knowing. “A palm reading,” he echoed, voice dipping into something darker. “Aye, is that what we’re callin’ it these days?”

Her chin tilted, just enough to show defiance. “I’ve coin, if that’s what it takes.”

His grin widened, feral as a wolf’s. “Keep yer coin, mistress.” He stepped aside, sweeping the tent flap open. “Come inside. Let’s see what yer fate has to say.”

She hesitated.

He arched a brow, gaze glinting. “What’s the matter? Afraid of what I’ll see in yer future?”

She brushed past him, the edge of her cloak grazing his chest. He caught her scent again—heady, intoxicating—and closed theflap behind them.

Inside, the glow of oil lamps bathed the tent in amber, throwing shadows like whispers against the canvas walls. Davina stood rigid, hands hidden, cloak still wrapped around her like armor.

Broderick circled her slowly, every step full of quiet intent. “Ye needn’t be shy, Davina.” His voice dark with wicked promise. “I already know yer secrets.”

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