Page 98 of Spar of Hearts

She was just…Anya. And she could scarcely remember the last time that was the case.

The memory of the night before and the shared heat of their bodies made desire coil in her belly. The sun was up, but the full moon never truly left. There were simply more distractions in the daylight.

She licked dry lips, realizing they’d only had one quick drink yesterday. She felt like she could drink that stream dry in one gulp now.

Traveling in the cool of the day would be best, but that required waking Roderick. It had to happen eventually, which left her two choices: try to wiggle out of his embrace and shift before he woke, running the risk of putting her body on full display; or face her nakedness head on and wake him up just like this—and face the potentially delicious consequences.

Logically, either option ended with him seeing her bare. Might as well go for the one that kept her warm and cozy a little longer.

“Roderick,” she whispered, rubbing her cheek on his chest. A pleasant shiver rolled down her spine. So she did it again, repeating his name in a hushed, gentle tone. Then again, and again, and again, until her mind was utterly flooded with blissful waves of instinctual satisfaction.

She thought of nothing but Roderick: his surprisingly gentle, sensitive heart, the story he told to Mabel and the way he tucked her in, the fire in his eyes as they sparred, his endless attempts to make her smile, how his voice and touch alone pulled her out of the trauma that threatened to drown her on the beach.

And of course, those damned fangs.

He’d resolved to show her what kind of man he was—and he’d proven he was more than worthy of the truth. But how? When?

When happy brain chemicals finally diffused, she gave his chest one last brush, then blinked and looked up, finding a wide-eyed Roderick staring down at her, his cheeks flushed with crimson.

Her rational mind seized the reins again. Oh Mother Moon, what was he thinking? Was he embarrassed? Shocked? Aroused? He was impossible to read.

Say something!

“Oh! Oh stars, I am so sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” She averted her eyes from his, only to land on the intimate press between their bodies. This was a terrible idea. He’d surely think her an instinct-driven maniac.

“You were rubbing your scent on me,” Roderick said, voice low and husky with sleep. He almost sounded pleased. A rush of relief unlocked the breath she’d been holding deep in her belly.

“I…Was?” The feeling had overcome her so quickly, she hadn’t even realized what she was doing. She touched two fingers to her cheek, a little raw from the hair on Roderick’s chest.

He nodded. “It’s why Bernard touches Annette so much. I asked him about it, once. I’ve never been good at social cues. I have a feeling you already know that, though.”

Anya chuckled to herself. “Perhaps.”

He was failing to pick up on her very obvious invitation right this very moment. She was practically dangling herself like a leg of mutton.

Unless he was purposely avoiding it. Her mind wandered to the moment in the cave, when she tried to take things a step further, and the firm, almost angry tone he had when he pushed her away. Hot embarrassment crept up her neck to her ears. Twice. This was twice now she’d been spurned. Had she taken leave of her senses? Did she really want to go for the trifecta of unrequited desire?

Roderick continued, his voice far more even-keeled than most folk would be in this situation. “Millicent was always very blunt with me, see. If I did something that displeased her, she told me quite plainly. She’d known me practically my whole life, so she knew how I was. Then, well, I tried to woo you, and that ended rather frigidly. So I asked Bernard, because I’m trying to be better.”

“I could’ve handled that more diplomatically,” she admitted.

The chuckle that puffed his chest renewed her awareness of their physical predicament.

“Perhaps,” he said, mimicking her earlier tone. “But I think you’ve more than made up for it. Especially now. Bernard said the touches are more than just for pleasure. It reminds other folk, mostly Lycanians, that a person is important to them. He said it comforts Annette too, and helps her anxiety. The ‘Lycanian love language,’ I believe he called it.”

Anya’s throat went dry.

Love?

Was love what overcame her just now? Was the tugging at her cheekbones, the flutter in her belly, and the light, airy hum in her head…love?

“Am I important to you, Anya?” he whispered.

Anya froze as underbrush kicked up mere paces away from their shelter.

“How much fartherrrrrrr?” a voice whined.

A low growl rolled in Anya’s throat. Her hackles rose. Her mind flooded with possessive, wolfish thoughts. She gripped Roderick tighter and glared daggers out of the shelter.