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Arlon’s dark eyebrows climb. “Dancing?”

“It made me light-footed.” I grin at him. “I’m a much better burglar than I would’ve been without Mr. Rooney’s lessons. I was his star pupil. He’d probably keel over from shame if he knew what I’m using the skills for.”

He laughs, then leans in for a quick kiss, just a brush of his warm lips against mine. “One day, I’ll get you to play the lyre for me.”

He releases me, and I stare after him, surprised. I’d just admitted that I wanted to build a future with him, and he’s already moving on?

But he rummages through his saddlebags and pulls out an envelope that looks a lot like the letters he wrote at the inn this morning. He holds it out, and I take it from him, turning it over in my hands.

“What’s this?”

Arlon hesitates, then admits, “I wrote you a letter. You said you never get any, so I thought…”

My heart trips at his words. “You wrote me a letter?”

“Look, I’ll go wash, and you can read it or toss it, I don’t?—”

I put a hand on his arm to stop him. “Thank you.” My throat feels tight, so I swallow before adding, “I’ll read it now. I’d never—I wouldn’t toss it. It means a lot to me that you remembered.”

It’s not easy for me to say this. I was taught that ladies aren’t meant to speak their minds, and talking about my feelings is even harder.

But I instinctively know that this gesture from Arlon is more than significant.

Until now, he’s flirted with me and protected me, yes, but this…

He might have found the exact path to my heart.

His smile is a little lopsided, as if he’s still unsure of my reaction but relieved, too. “All right, then. I’ll be right back.”

He’s gone, his quiet footsteps fading into the night noises of the forest. I stare down at the letter for a breath, then hurry over to the fireplace. I pry open the wax seal, pull out the folded sheet of paper, and tilt it toward the light.

Dear Tessa,

It feels silly to be writing this when I could walk over to you and tell you all this in person, but you looked so sad when you told me you never get any letters that I had to change that, immediately.

You’ve gone to talk to Mistress Maeve, so I don’t have a lot of time, but I’ll write you as many letters as you want in the future.

I’ve been imagining what our future might look like, and I don’t know the answer yet. I’m not sure what you want, which makes it difficult to picture the life we could have together.

But let me tell you what I have so far: Us, waking up together every morning. Good conversation over shared meals. Me, making a fool of myself just to see you crack a smile and roll your eyes. You, trying to pretend you’re not ogling my ass as you walk behind me.

It sounds like a good future to me. Would you agree?

All my love,

Arlon

The letter trembles in my hands. I’m torn between laughter and tears, my insides twisting strangely.

I wonder what Arlon’s parents must be like, to have raised a man so comfortable speaking about his feelings.

I’ve never met anyone like him, and I wonder once again if the fates have made a mistake matching us together.

I fold the letter again and tuck it safely in my saddlebag, where it won’t get wet even if it pours on us. As much as I love the gold I nicked from my traveling companion, this piece of paper is now the most precious of my possessions, and I don’t know what to do about that.

Arlon hasn’t come back yet, which means he’s likely bathing in a stream somewhere.

The thought spurs me into action—I’m filthy from a day’s ride, my riding pants splattered with mud, my shirt wrinkled and less than fresh.

I pull out a washcloth and the soap I stole from Arlon from my bag and set to washing myself.

I shrug off my jacket and toe off my dirty boots, then shove my pants down my legs and hang my clothes out to dry beside the fireplace.

Arlon will be back any moment now, so I quickly shed my shirt and untie my stays, then scrub myself with the warm water from the kettle.

The soap smells like him, and I inhale the sweet scent deeply, then curse as my body reacts instinctively.

My nipples harden, both from the cold and the memory of how he touched me last night—and again this morning.

When I reach into my underwear to wash between my legs, I shiver as I encounter the slickness there.

A choked sound from behind me has me whirling around, and I find Arlon standing in the doorway, shirtless, the laces of his pants untied, the damp bundle of his clothes tucked under one arm.

His hair is tied up in a bun, and he looks magnificent, his features cast in sharp detail by the flickering firelight.

I go to reach for my shirt to cover myself, but Arlon steps forward and closes the front door behind him.

“Don’t,” he rasps. “Let me look at you.”

I release a shuddering breath, but I lower my arm and straighten my shoulders. “All right.”

He dumps his clothes onto the rickety table and closes the distance between us. “Tessa…I think you should brew that tea now.”

The tension between us breaks as I giggle, but he only looks slightly wounded at my reaction.

“Oh, you were serious?” I glance at the dusty space. “Arlon, there’s no bed in here.”

“I don’t need a bed to make you feel good.”

He cups my face with both hands and kisses me, hard. The heat of him is incredible, so I wrap my arms around his neck and let him press me to his chest, so we’re skin to skin. I give myself over to the kiss because it feels as natural as breathing—there’s no pretense, no holding back.

When Arlon breaks the kiss, I sway slightly before finding my balance again.

“Do you want me to make a bed, Tessa?” he asks, his voice a rumbling growl.

I search his face, wondering if he means it, then nod quickly. “All right. You make the bed, I’ll brew the tea.”

He presses another quick kiss to my lips, as if he can’t help himself, then grabs an ax from his pack and slips out through the door.

I’m left standing half-naked in front of the fireplace, wondering what I’ve just agreed to.

With a sigh, I pad over to our gear, dig out a tin cup from Arlon’s bag, and add a heaping spoonful of the herbal mixture we picked up at the apothecary today.

Steam curls up as I pour the boiling water from the kettle, and I dunk the floating leaves with a spoon, impatient for them to steep.

How long does the tea have to brew? The herbalist only said to drink it daily, but surely there’s a proper way…

Arlon stomps back into the house, carrying an armful of short fir branches.

He arranges the bundle on the floor and leaves again, sending me a heated glance as he goes.

I resist the urge to put on a shirt. If he’s bare-chested while venturing out and carrying prickly branches, I can bear the slight chill that still lingers in the room.

Instead, I pick up the cup and take a careful sip of tea, blowing on it first to avoid scorching my mouth.

By the time Arlon brings in the third armful of bedding, the tea is almost gone, and I wonder whether I should be feeling any effect at all, or if it’s all invisible magic working in my body.

I think of why we need the tea in the first place and squeeze my legs together, startled at the effect of a mere thought.

When he appears at the door again, this time bearing a bundle of dried fern, I walk to the entrance as he’s strewing it on top of the fir clippings and firmly shut the door.

“I think that’s enough bedding.” I walk over to where he’s crouched and hand him the first of the blankets. “Thank you for making this.”

He stands and shakes out the blanket, then lays it over the lot. “And did you complete your part?”

“You know I did.” I motion at the empty cup on the table. “Now, are you done?”

Smirking, Arlon takes another blanket and adds it to the first. “I need to make sure my mate is comfortable.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Right now, she’s very uncomfortable because she’s getting cold.”

“Hmm.” He steps in and places his hands on my waist, skimming his warm palms over my skin. “We can’t have that.”

I rise on my tiptoes to kiss him. “How are you so much warmer than me?”

His body radiates heat, so I wrap my arms around his waist and press myself to him. My nipples harden at the touch. When he palms my ass and lifts me off the floor to hold me closer, I shiver at the soft scrape of his chest hair against my sensitive flesh.

“I’ve been thinking about this for days,” he admits as he kisses my neck, my jaw, and the spot beneath my ear that has me gasping for breath. “I imagined every possible way we could come together, and yet I didn’t think it would be like this.”

“On the floor of a dusty cottage in the middle of the wilderness?” I laugh against his lips. “Me neither.”

He shakes his head, and a strand of his long, damp hair slides forward, obscuring his face. “No, with you so impatient, urging me on. I thought I’d be the one to beg.”

Something about his words has me pulling back from the kiss. I cup his cheeks, staring up at him intently. “Arlon, I want this. I want you.”

“You’re not just using me for my warmth?”

The words are teasing, but there’s a hint of worry in his gaze. It’s so unexpected that my breath stalls. He’s worried he might be coaxing me into this. Or that I’m doing this for all the wrong reasons.

Taking a step back, I lower my hands to the drawstring of my underwear and tug. Arlon’s eyes flare wide, and he opens his mouth as if to say something, but I hook my thumbs in the linen hem and push that last piece of clothing down my legs.

As I step back into his arms, I whisper, “I’m not lying to you. Touch me and see for yourself.”

He draws in a sharp inhale, his nostrils flaring, then slowly reaches down between my legs. His fingertips brush the softness of my inner thigh. He slides his hand up, and when he reaches my slick, warm pussy, his lashes flutter, and he lets out a low groan.