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His thumb strokes over my skin. “Tell me you feel the same way.”

“I’m your prisoner,” I say, sidestepping an answer.

“That is the least of the wrongs between us.” He leans in closer. “Tell me,” he repeats.

Without thinking, I press my mouth to his.

For one long, agonizing moment, he freezes beneath my lips.

Just when I expect him to pull away, he lets out a small noise, something that sounds like want and defeat and surprise all wrapped into one. And then his lips are pressing back against mine, meeting me stroke for stroke.

Hesitantly, his hands thread themselves into my hair. He cradles my face, his kiss soft, so exceedingly soft.

Taking my cue from him, I place my palm against his jaw, my fingers brushing the skin of his cheek.

He pulls away, his eyes bright with heat.

“Sara …”

My skin puckers, even as my eyes meet his.

I didn’t mean to do that.That’s what I’m supposed to say.

But the words stay locked inside me.

His gaze returns to my mouth, and whatever restraint he has left now crumbles. His lips are back on mine, stronger and surer than before.

The previous kiss could be called a mistake, but not this one.

He kisses me eagerly, leaning into me until his warm chest presses against mine. I let my hands drift over his face like I’m trying to memorize him by feel. My thumbs brush over his closed eyes and those enviable lashes, they skim over his temples and cheekbones.

The smell of the earth and smoke and pine needles fill my nose, the falling rain chilling my exposed skin. We’re so far from humanity that right now Pestilence feels more like magic than some ancient blight.

His arms go around me, and without breaking the kiss, he carries me to the tent. I don’t have time to fear that small space before he brushes the flaps aside and lays me down on the blankets. He kneels between my legs, taking a moment to set aside his crown, his gaze rooted to my face.

Languidly, he drapes himself over my body, his mouth finding mine once more. I nearly moan as his weight settles over me. It’s been so long—fartoolong—since I’ve done this, and I find I’m aching for that comfort and connection.

The horseman’s hands tremble as they brush over me, cautiously exploring. I wonder if this is taboo for him—touching a woman, a victim he’s been sparing. I wonder how he feels about that.

I wonder, simply, how hefeels. How he thinks. I don’t know when I began caring, but now, with him so close to me, it seems important.

My lips part his, and I begin to explore his mouth.

Another sound escapes him, this one less surprised and more primal. He crushes his mouth to mine, and our sweet kiss is turning darker, hungrier. His hips grind against mine, and I break away from the kiss to sigh out my need.

“Sara,” he says, nearly breathless, “I feel … I feel I am losing myself to this sensation—to you.” His eyes search mine. “Is this … is this love?”

I sober upfast.

My hands have made their way to the small of his back, pressing his body flush against mine, and somehow my legs have wound their way around him.

Got more than a little carried away …

I sit up, gently pushing him off of me. Reluctantly he rolls away. I lick my lips, tasting him on my mouth.

The last of that sensual hazy feeling retreats completely, leaving a creeping coldness in its wake. I made out with Pestilence—and I’d been ready to do more.

I shake my head. “No, this is not love.”