Page 59 of Hand-Fasting and Other Hazards
He pulled back, breathing heavily, his forehead resting against hers. Her breathy laugh calmed the turmoil churning inside him—maybe they could do this together, carefully, one step at a time. Maybe this raw connection could be the beginning of something real.
He didn’t want to rush, not if it meant risking their chance at having this and more.
“Right,” Nia said, her voice and breath unsteady. “Wow. Okay.” She let out a shaky laugh, brushing her hair back. “So, that’s what it’s like.”
“What?”
“Kissing you,” she said, simply. For once, she didn’t sound guarded, or like she was worried about maintaining the upper hand.
“That bad?”
He meant it as a joke, but the words came out rougher, hungrier than he intended.
Her lips curved into a slow, wicked smile, her thighs tightening around his hips just enough to make his vision blur at the edges. “If you could feel my underwear right now, you’d know it wasn’t bad at all.”
That hit him like a freight train. The restraint he’d been clinging to began to slip through his fingers. His forehead pressed to hers as his voice dropped. “If we go that far, it’s going to get hard to prove to your father he was wrong about us.”
He felt her stiffen in his arms, and for a fleeting second, he wondered if he’d pushed too far—or not far enough. Lochlan exhaled and forced himself to step back and put space between them before he forgot why he needed to. Her lips were swollen from their kiss, her cheeks flushed.
Walking away from her in that moment was the hardest thing he’d done in years.
“Think about it, Nia.” His voice was carefully steady even as his resolve wavered. “Because I think we both need to. We may want this. But you want other things, too.”
He turned before he could see her reaction. The sound of her ragged breath haunted him as he slipped out of the room, every step away from her feeling heavier than the last.
CHAPTER 21
Nia
“SPEND A DAY WITH THE SWORD!” —THE WEEKLY HEX
The gloom of Wulfric’s manor suited Nia’s mood. She followed the butler into the parlor, her steps stiff, her mind an irritating jumble of thoughts. The room was all dark wood and heavy drapes, as if someone had decorated with the explicit goal of blocking out joy.
Lochlan walked just behind her, close enough that she could feel his presence without turning around. Too close. His fingers brushed hers—barely a whisper of contact—and her pulse kicked up, traitorous and immediate.
“Think about it, Nia. Because I think we both should.”
She had thought about it, and all that came to mind was the memory of how his mouth felt against hers.
She chose a lone armchair, the back stiff and uncomfortable, far away from any other chair.
The butler cleared his throat. “What can I get you to drink?”
“Peach Aperol spritz with an Eye of Newt twist,” she said, the words slipping out before she could stop herself.
The butler blinked, unimpressed. “Peach is out of season.”
Of course, it was autumn. She slumped back in her seat, regretting the attempt at humor. Before she could muster a proper response, Lochlan’s calm voice cut in.
“She’ll have a blood orange martini, and I’ll take a bourbon on the rocks.”
Her head snapped toward him. He wasn’t even looking at her, just casually inspecting a dark painting on the wall like he hadn’t just rattled off her favorite drink without hesitation.
It arrived a moment later, the vibrant orange liquid catching the light as the butler placed it beside her. She picked it up, fingers curling tightly around the delicate stem, and took a long sip. The bright, tart sweetness hit her tongue, offering a momentary reprieve from the storm of thoughts.
Across the room, Lochlan raised his bourbon in a silent toast, his gaze unreadable. She didn’t return the gesture, keeping her eyes fixed on the rim of her glass instead—but her heart betrayed her, hammering harder with every passing second.
He hadn’t made a single move since the kiss.
