fresh cloth and redressed the wound. “It seems as
though you won’t be needing this for very long, after all.”
He took her
hands in his, brushing the knuckles softly with the pads of his thumbs. “Even
so, thank you for doing it.”
Kyra opened
her mouth to respond, but she couldn’t find any words—her senses seemed
to have gone into overload at being in close proximity to him. She was
hyper-aware of everything about him—the touch of his hands against hers,
the powerful thigh muscles pressed against her hips, the way his eyes locked
with hers. She was drowning in the depths of his irises, and taking a deep
breath, was drawn closer to him by the mix of spice and musk that was his
scent.
“Kyra,” Bryce
murmured, recognizing the dilation of her pupils and the racing of her heart
rate for what it was—similar to her reaction when she was lying, but he
could smell the scent of a woman’s desire along with it. Her reaction was
inevitable—the mating bond would push them together into completing the
ritual regardless of their personal feelings for one another.
“I shouldn’t
be this close to you,” she said softly, but made no move to get away from him.
“I don’t know anything about you at all.” Her lips hovered a scant inch from
his.
“No, you
don’t,” he agreed, but his voice sounded distant, as though it were coming from
another room, perhaps even another place entirely. “And I know nothing about
you.”
They stood
there for a long time, Bryce holding himself rigid, knowing that even the
tiniest movement could send him tumbling over the edge of temptation. It was
the hardest thing he’d ever done, resisting a woman when her body was
practically offering itself up to him. But through her hooded eyes, through the
desire lurking there, he could see her internal struggle, and he knew she
needed to make the choice. He refused to take advantage of her.
Eventually,
Kyra stepped back with a sigh, pulling her hands away from him. “I think it
might be best if you put a shirt on. I can’t seem to think very clearly right
now.”
Despite his
sexual frustration, he couldn’t help but grin. “You have no idea what
statements like that do for a man’s ego,” he told her, getting up and
retrieving a shirt from the wooden trunk at the foot of his bed.
“I’m sure you
don’t need to be told you cut a fine figure,” she told him as she sat down on
the edge of the bed, but there was a thread of amusement beneath her brisk
tone.
“And I’m sure
you don’t need to be told that you’re beautiful,” he said after he’d pulled a
new shirt on.
Kyra smiled,
but this time there was an edge of bitterness to it. “Such a flirt. You
remind me of the men who used to request my company. They were far too
easy with compliments, although I knew their only real interest in me was the
inheritance that I was due.”
“Your
inheritance?” Bryce frowned.
“My father
was an earl. He’d inherited a rather poor estate from my grandfather, who had
been a heavy drinker and gambler, but had a fine head for business and had been
in the process of renewing the family fortune. Unfortunately, he was a very
strong supporter of the King, and because of that our family was attacked by a
group of rebels who are very upset with the current regime. All our money and
belongings were taken, and our house burned to the ground.”
Bryce’s heart
clenched at the pain in Kyra’s voice. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I’m sure
you’ve heard the words a thousand times, and I know they don’t take the pain
away. Is that why you came out here?”
“My aunt offered
to take me in. It was a better alternative to being forced into life as a
companion or a governess.” Kyra shook her head. “Sometimes I still wonder if
this is all a dream—if I will wake up and find myself back in my bed on
my father’s estate, listening to the birds singing outside my window. I’d get
dressed and go downstairs to find my
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley