Page 18 of A Kiss of Flame

‘I wish I knew too,’ she admitted, ashamed of the way her voice shook, and of the way she wanted to bury herself in his arms. ‘It’s terrifying. I keep thinking that any second someone will find out and then… I’ll be in so much trouble, Finn.’

‘They won’t find out.’ His voice rumbled against her and he pulled her into his embrace. She pressed her face into his chest and was swept away in the scent and the warmth of him.

Her Finn. He was hers, through and through, and she was his. She had known it from the first kiss deep in the darkwood, though she would never have admitted it then. From the moment, delirious with magic, he had pressed his lips to hers and filled her with such pleasure and desire, she had known they belonged to each other.

But he didn’t deny what they both knew to be true. He didn’t try to tell her that everything would be all right. She lifted her face to look at him and found him standing so still, with his eyes closed, his expression fixed and strained. As if he was fighting for control of himself.

‘Finn?’ she whispered.

His eyes opened and they were deep and dark, endless, their blue turned to the colour of midnight.

‘Wren,’ he said, his voice a growl. ‘Come with me. Please.’

‘To see Roland?’

He blinked, and she saw the confusion flicker over his handsome features. ‘No.’

His hand cupped the side of her face, the touch so tender and carefully controlled. His fingertips brushed her skin, and made a tingling shiver run through her. She lifted herself on her toes without meaning to, as if drawn to him, as if something other pulled her forward.

Finn surged towards her, swift and fluid. A warrior in motion, every muscle trained and honed. His hands tightened their grip on her, strong but still unbearably gentle. Because he was always gentle, even in the greatest passion.

He would never hurt her. She knew that with all her heart, with every fibre of her being.

But his mouth was savage, desperate, like a starving man suddenly presented with a feast. His fingers tangled in her hair, or perhaps her hair tangled around him, and she let herself melt against him.

Great light she had missed this. She had missed him, everything about him. But his passion was her undoing.

Finn lifted her from her feet, pausing only to kick the door closed behind them, and carried her towards the bed. He didn’t stop kissing her for even an instant, though his mouth moved from hers, along the line of her jaw and down her neck. Teasing her, and tormenting her, his lips on her skin, his teeth grazing the surface of her flesh. Letting her head fall back, Wren closed her eyes, revelling in the sensation of his touch, his strength, his need for her.

And hers for him, because she couldn’t deny it even if she had wanted to. Her body trembled and sang with desire.

The fastenings on her gown defeated him. He looked up, confused.

‘How do you…?’

Wren couldn’t help but laugh. ‘I don’t know. There’s usually someone to help. If it was just me I’d probably have to cut my way out.’

A flash of something wicked and wanton entered his eyes then and a fresh shiver ran through her. He was tempted, she could see that, and he had a knife right there on his belt. Light help her, she was tempted herself.

Their gazes snagged together, understanding blossoming, and Finn laughed, such a different laugh to before. This was a low, deep chuckle that did strange things inside her, wonderful things. The sound of amusement. Of something shared. And it made her think instantly of all she adored about him. All the ways she wanted him. ‘It might be a bit much to explain,’ he said at last.

Disappointment quelled her, but she smiled nonetheless. She couldn’t help but smile at that expression of longing and devotion. ‘You’re probably right.’

She moved to sit up on the edge of the bed, but before she could, he stopped her, his body blocking her.

His voice rumbled against her skin, sending shivers through her. ‘I didn’t say we were finished, princess. You aren’t going anywhere yet.’

CHAPTER 10

WREN

Finn took her wrists, turning each over so he could plant a delicious kiss on the inside, one after the other, and then he lifted her arms over her head, one hand holding her down. Wren wriggled, more out of habit than any actual desire to escape him.

She definitely didn’t want to escape him.

‘Don’t move,’ he told her, his voice little more than a whisper, while his other hand slid between her legs, parting them, and moved up beneath her skirts.

‘Oh, but I?—’