He groaned. “Cosmina.”
“I want to make love with you, Henrik,” she said, laying it on the line, letting honesty lead the way. “I want to know your touch before you leave me.”
“Sweet love.” Eyes dark with desire, he kissed her back. A gentle touch. The merest brush of his mouth against hers—so soft, so sweet, so filled with longing he made her want to cry. “Have you ever been with a man?”
“Aye.”
Surprise made him pause. Raising his head, he brushed the tangle of curls from her temple and retreated enough to look at her. Apprehension lit off, making her heart pound harder. Did her honesty bother him? Did he expect her to be a virgin? Most men would. She’d never been married, after all . . . or even close to betrothed. Another misstep in a whole string of them. She’d lost her innocence years ago. Had made mistake after mistake, trusting the wrong boy, believing the lies he told. And yet as she held Henrik’s gaze, she refused to lie.
Or pretend to be someone she wasn’t.
“I was fifteen and foolish,” she said, memories rising from the ashes.
Gods, she’d been so naive. So very wrong, but then the former High Priestess of Orm had driven her to it—keeping her sequestered inside the tower room, locking her away, allowing no one to visit. The reason for her imprisonment had been simple. The old witch had wanted to keep Cosmina’s gift a secret—all to herself, so that she might profit while others floundered. Her mother had fought long and hard for Cosmina’s freedom. To no end. Ruthless, without conscience, Ylenia had removed her mother from the equation. A deadly poison splashed into her wine goblet and . . .
Grief tightened Cosmina’s throat. Goddess . . . five years. Five long years had passed, and yet the pain never lessened. The loss of her mother still hurt. If only she’d seen Ylenia’s plan in advance. If only she’d understood the jagged pieces of premonition. If only she’d put enough clues together and warned her mother in time.If only . . . if only . . . if only. Two words that would forever haunt her. Along with the aftermath of her mother’s murder and her rebellion against the Order of Orm. Had she been smarter, she could have wielded her gift like a weapon. Made Ylenia and those in her inner circle dance to her tune. Instead she’d rebelled, refusing to share her visions, getting involved with the wrong boy, making the High Priestess believe the loss of her virginity meant the end of her gift.
A huge bluff. One Ylenia had called the day she evicted Cosmina from White Temple. And a history she had every right to hide. Something about Henrik, though, made her want to let it go and lay herself bare.
“I was young. Too trusting,” she said. “I thought I was in love, and he—”
“Took advantage.”
“Not really. I was willing and . . . curious.” Sad, but true. She’d craved a friend, a companion outside her tower prison and the kitchen staff who brought her meals. The smithy’s son had provided that and, well—Cosmina grimaced—a whole lot more. Tracing the shell of Henrik’s ear, she pressed her cheek to his. A gentle shift. A quick adjustment, and she kissed him again. He drew a sharp breath. Daring to be bold, she licked into his mouth. He responded, delving in, deepening the contact, and pulled her toward him. Her knees slid on the sheet. His hand settled on her back as she touched the tip of her tongue to his. “My cross to bear, I guess.”
“What is, iubita?”
“Curiosity . . . The need to experience things.”
“Understandable,” he said, kissing her back. “Did he give you pleasure?”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I’ll take that as nay,” he growled, disgust for her onetime lover in his tone.
“I only slept with him once, but . . .” She shrugged, then shivered as Henrik’s fingertips played along her spine. Up. Down. Around and around. He drew circles on her skin, watching her, descending until he stroked the curve of her bottom. Pleasure rippled through her, making her muscles twitch as she moaned against his mouth.
With a hum, he nipped her bottom lip. His fingers stroked up, slipping beneath the hem of her braes. “But?”
Cosmina blinked. But what? Good Lord, she couldn’t remember what they’d been talking about, never mind follow the conversation. Not with his hands on her, caressing, exploring, trailing across her bare back.
Henrik helped, prompting her memory. “You slept with him once, but . . .”
Oh, right. That conversation. “I don’t think he knew what he was doing.”
“Imbecile.”
“Probably.”
Henrik smiled against her throat. A second later, he flicked her pulse point with his tongue. “You deserve better, iubita . . . to know joy, every ounce of pleasure.”
“So show me better.”
“Cosmina . . .” Regret in his tone, he raised his head. “Sweet love, ’tisn’t a good idea. I shouldn’t be touching you like this, never mind—”
“Please?”
Caressing her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, he held her gaze. Longing reflected in his eyes, mirroring her own, providing what she wanted most: all his desire, every ounce of his yearning centered on her. But even as she rejoiced in his need, remorse stole into his expression, and he shook his head.
She tightened her grip in his hair. “Do you want me, Henrik?”
“More than I want my next breath.”
“Well, I want you back,” she said, a plea in her tone, strength in her hands.
She couldn’t let him go. Not while pressure mounted between her temples and premonition threatened. ’Twas strange, her need for him. Naught about it made sense. Then again, naught about her gift ever did. She never received the whole story, just bits and pieces. Broken shards that didn’t amount to much. Still, she refused to ignore the coil and strike of second sight. Somehow . . . some way . . . Cosmina knew being with him was right. Was good. Would make a difference down the line and change the course of her life. So nay, no going back. Or shying away. In this moment, he belonged to her. And she needed to claim him, even if it meant she must let him go in the end.
“Henrik, I need to know you. I cannot explain it. ’Tisn’t based in rough urges or right and wrong,” she said, holding his gaze. “’Tis a necessary thing . . . pure instinct. I need this from you. Please . . . do not leave me wanting.”
He growled, the rough purr so low she barely heard it. A denial? Unabashed acceptance? It didn’t matter. Her course was set, and fate turned the dial, pushing her into his arms. So she kissed him again, sinking into his mouth, holding on to his taste, hope rising hard as she waited to see what he would do . . .
Push her away. Or do as she asked and lay her down.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
He shouldn’t be touching her. Shouldn’t be enjoying the feel of her so much either. Giving into need. Doing what he wanted. Making love to Cosmina. All bad ideas. Worse than terrible, actually. Henrik knew it. Every instinct he owned told him it wouldn’t end well. He’d do what he always did and leave. She’d end up with a handful of memories and a heart full of hurt. Not good for either of them. But even as he told himself to do the right thing, ease up and back away, he couldn’t force his hands from her, never mind deny her kiss. Not with her small hands buried in his hair and her lush body up against his.
Henrik groaned. God forgive him but . . .
She tasted so damned good.
Better than decadent. A delicious temptress who twisted intention, making him yearn in ways he never had before. Now he longed for her. For the softness of her skin. For the taste of her tongue and heat of her mouth. For the acceptance she gave. No judgment. No second-guessing. Not an ounce of hesitation, just full-on welcome wrapped up in all-consuming need.