Free Jaded by Anya Bast Page B

something long forgotten igniting inside him.
    She withdrew her hand. “I hear you’re a scholar of history.”
    “I’m getting a degree specialization in the Purion Era right now.”
    “Do you intend to teach?”
    “I intend to write books.”
    “Ah.” She pressed her lips together and looked down at the polished black toes of her expensive pair of boots. It seemed like she wanted to say something else.
    “What is it, Lilya?”
    She raised her gaze to him, her cheeks a charming shade of pink. “I never went to school. Or, at least, I stopped going to school once my father died. He was a good man who thought education was very important, but he was also a poor man who couldn’t make provisions for a daughter with no other family once he’d died.”
    “He was right to value education.”
    “You say you don’t intend to teach, but I wondered, if while I’m here, maybe you could impart to me some of what you know. If it’s too much of an imposition, just forget I asked.”
    His eyebrows rose and he wondered for a moment if she was sincere, or if she was only trying to lure him in, using something she knew he loved in order to grow closer to him. But judging from the blush on her cheeks and the embarrassed way she wouldn’t meet his eyes, he came to the conclusion her request was genuine. Either that or she was a wonderful actress. “It’s not an imposition. What topic would you most like to learn about?”
    She shrugged and met his eyes for the barest of moments. “You’re better suited to selecting one. Your choice. I have only a rudimentary grasp of the history of Rylisk.”
    He nodded, his mind already whirling with possibilities. “We can start tomorrow morning after breakfast.”
    “Thank you.” She smiled, leaned in, and kissed him on his cheek. He went very still at the feel of her soft mouth on his skin and the barest waft of her scent that surrounded him for a moment.
    He was still standing there like an imbecile after she’d backed into her room and closed the door.
     
     
    That night, after the fire was doused and the lights were out, Lilya found herself unable to sleep. She tossed and turned in the huge four-poster bed. Even though the mattress was comfortable and the blankets stroked her skin like the soft wing of a bird, she couldn’t find rest.
    Sitting up, she surveyed the room by the waning silver light of the moon coming in through the large windows. It cast shadows along the thick area rugs, the sofa, and the chairs. The hearth showed the muted red coals of a fire that wished to be.
    The fire inside of her didn’t wish to be—it burned. Ever since Byron had shown up at the temple, she’d been in turns uncomfortable, frightened, bliss-filled, and desirous. That man seemed to sow nothing but emotional chaos in his wake. She’d been happy to see him again, yet a part of her wished for the bland reality she’d been living since he’d left.
    Thoughts thus occupied, sleep was only a distant aspiration. She rose, found her night wrap, and headed downstairs for a drink of water.
    “Lilya?”
    She froze at the bottom of the stairs and searched the darkness for Byron. She spotted him at a window to her left and walked to him. “You scared me. What are you doing staring out the window in the middle of the night?”
    “I couldn’t sleep.” She studied his profile in the silver light of the moon, stony and a little rough. No, he wasn’t pretty, but she thought he was beautiful.
    Clearly, she was doomed.
    With a sigh, she settled in beside him and stared out the window at the sweep of lawn that surrounded his home. “Usually when I can’t sleep there’s a reason for it.” She had a reason tonight, but she wasn’t about to share it with him.
    He moved a little, seemingly restless. He remained silent for a moment longer than it took for her to wonder if something was really wrong. “Bad dreams. Why are you awake?”
    “I often have trouble sleeping when I’m away from home. I was