Page 24

Her lips part again, but no protest comes out. Because she is. Interested. And we both know it.

She doesn’t hesitate. Not in the way that matters. There’s a beat—yes—a flicker of uncertainty, of hesitation born not from doubt, but from the weight of inevitability. And then she nods, slow, a faint curve pulling at her mouth, eyes already brighter than they were a moment ago.

“All right,” she says. Just that. Simple. Not breathless. Not wide-eyed. Just steady. Willing.

I rise without flourish and extend a hand, and when hers slips into mine, I feel it—that quick thrum beneath her skin, her pulse jumping in her wrist where my fingers curl, the flush that returns like she can’t quite keep it from showing. She follows me from the table, past the boys who pretend not to see us, their silence louder than anything they could say.

We don’t need music. The tavern is full of it—crooked notes from a half-sober fiddler in the corner, the murmur of voices, chairs scraping, laughter rolling like smoke over splintered floors.

I guide her just far enough from the crowd to claim a sliver of space near the open window, where the air is cooler and the scent of wild rosemary curls through the cracks. My hand settleslightly at the small of her back, the other clasping hers, and I wait until she looks up at me before I move.

“You dance?” she murmurs.

I let the corner of my mouth lift. “I adapt.”

We sway—slow, minimal steps. Just enough movement to feel the rhythm of each other, to let the energy stretch tight between our joined hands, between the way she tilts her chin up toward me but never all the way. Her fingers tighten just slightly in mine, and I know it’s not from nerves. It’s from want.

Not lust.

Want.

I wait for a full turn before I speak again. “There is something I want to be clear about.”

Her brows lift—not startled, just curious now. She’s beginning to expect directness from me. Good.

“I intend to bond with you,” I say, voice low and even. “But I have no interest in rushing intimacy before we reach that point.”

She blinks. “You mean—”

“I would prefer not to sleep with you,” I clarify gently. “Not until the bond is sealed.”

She blinks again. This time slower.

“You… don’t want to—”

“Oh, I want to,” I say easily, watching the blush rise in her cheeks like it’s blooming just for me. “Quite badly, if I’m honest. But I won’t.”

Her grip falters for half a breath, like her balance is suddenly a question. I pull her slightly closer—not enough to alarm, just enough to recenter her. To remind her she’s still here, still dancing.

“You’re serious,” she says finally.

“I am.” My thumb brushes along the side of her hand, slow. “This is not about denying myself. It’s about giving you something none of them have.”

She stares at me, and I feel her breath hitch between us, caught somewhere in her throat like she doesn’t know if she should laugh or kiss me.

“And what’s that?” she asks, the words slipping out quieter than before.

“Time,” I murmur. “Deliberate, undivided time. Intimacy is inevitable. But I don’t want to blur this with desire until you know what you mean to me when I’m not touching you.”

Her eyes stay on mine, wide and wondering, and I watch her chest rise as she exhales slowly.

“That’s… a lot,” she finally says, voice soft but not small. “No one’s ever told me something like that.”

I tilt my head slightly, studying the curve of her mouth, the hesitation in her eyes that isn’t doubt—it’s awe. Confusion. Hunger without the rush.

“I’m not anyone else,” I say, calm. “And I’m not going to pretend to be.”

She bites the corner of her lip, gaze dropping, and her next exhale shudders through her body like she wasn’t ready for how that would feel. But when her eyes meet mine again, there’s no wall between us anymore. Just fire. Just curiosity. Just her letting herself look.