Free Dandelion Dreams by Samantha Garman Page B

closed the door and turned to face Kai. His blue-gray eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched.
    “Did you sleep with him?” Kai asked, his voice tight.
    “Not so good with beating around the bush, are you?”
    “Sage…”
    “If I did?” I challenged.
    Like a jungle cat, he was on me, pushing me against the door, his mouth covering mine. It was a brutal tempest of emotion, and I held onto him like a castaway in a life raft.
    “I didn’t,” I murmured once Kai’s kisses calmed. He bathed my forehead with tender lips as if apologizing for his irrational behavior.
    “What happened between you two?”
    “Is this really any of your business?”
    “I’m making it my business. What happened?”
    “Nothing.”
    “It doesn’t look that way.”
    My sigh was weary, but I gave in. “I didn’t lie to you.”
    “Do you want him?”
    “No,” I stated. His eyes poured into me, filling me up with the depth of his feelings. I wanted to shake in fear. “Don’t make claims, and don’t ask for promises.”
    “Okay,” he said in reluctant acceptance.
    I raised an eyebrow. “You ready for dinner?”
    “No.”
    “More bourbon?”
    “No.”
    “Should we go upstairs then?”
    “Yep.”

    •••

    I watched Kai sleep on his stomach, like a baby that wanted for nothing. The fairy moon outlined his fair skin in a silvery glow, a demigod gilded in shadow. He stirred. Pain rarely slept, even in dreams, but tonight we’d both rested peacefully. I had awakened only moments ago, needing to see him with my own eyes, to remember he was there.
    “We should get candles,” he mumbled into the pillow.
    I trailed a hand down his back, loving that he shivered at my touch. “Candles? Candles are cliché,” I whispered, placing my head next to his so our breaths mingled.
    “I want to see you golden.” He rolled over. “That first night you came to the café, I couldn’t help but notice how you looked in candlelight.”
    “You’re like a wandering bard, you know.”
    “I’m no bard.”
    “But you are a wanderer.”
    We never made it back downstairs for dinner, choosing instead to spend our time in bed—touching, sharing, exploring.
    “Would it really have bothered you if I’d slept with Luc?” I asked.
    He inhaled deeply as if he was stalling for time so he could choose his words carefully. “I know it’s hypocritical since you know my history, but yeah, it would’ve bothered me.”
    “Luc? Or the idea of Luc.”
    “I don’t know,” he admitted, “but I’m glad nothing happened between you two. It’s one thing to know you’ve been with other people—it’s another to have to see them.”
    “That’s fair, I guess.”
    I kissed his collarbone and wondered how he’d played his way into my blood. He held me like his mandolin, cradling me so that I felt like a cherished possession. Kai had learned the corners of my soul, and it had occurred in the darkest part of the night, when the stars peeked out from the clouds and a sliver of moon rode high in the sky. I felt both aged and reborn.
    He would have to leave me in the morning, when the sun would rise and time would start again. But for now, the sleepy minstrel sheltered me in warmth. I fell asleep with a smile on my face.

    •••

    The next morning I was not at all surprised to find I was alone in bed, but I was stunned by the wash of bereavement. I was supposed to be glad I had my space back, but when I breathed in, I no longer detected the scent of sunshine and mountains—the smell of Kai.
    Stumbling downstairs, I halted. Kai was in the kitchen, standing at the counter having a cup of coffee, like he belonged there—like he lived with me. Taking a moment, I consumed him with my eyes. He wasn’t very tall, close to five-ten maybe. His body was sturdy, almost compact, and when I was in his arms, I didn’t know there was a world outside just the two of us. His hair was dark brown and a bit too long; it fell into his face. I didn’t know if he owned a