Page 15 of His Orc Lady
My entire being is screaming at me to tell himsomething, to make sure he stays right here. I hate that I lived without him for nearly twenty-seven years, happy as anything, and now I can barely breathe for the fear of losing him.
“Yes.” He takes a step toward me, close enough to touch. “I’m staying. Lady Willow needs me here—or we’re both pretending she does.”
I suck in a breath, then another, but they’re all coming in heaving gasps, too loud and violent. It feels as if an invisible hand is holding me by the throat, and I can’t fill my lungs properly.
“Mara?” Owen grips my upper arm and peers into my face. “Are you all right?”
On my next half-inhale, I drag in his scent, and it’s so comforting, some of the tension in my throat eases. I tremble, my chin wobbling—a sure sign I’m about to cry. I want nothing more than to let myself fall forward, into Owen’s embrace. Hewould close his arms around me and hold me to his chest, and the world would make sense again.
“I’m fine,” I manage. “I’m just—I’m tired. I haven’t slept well.”
It’s the truth, if a partial one. I seem to be doling those out today, first to my friend and now to this man who might have become something so much more, if only the Fates hadn’t put us in such an impossible position.
“Would you like a breath of fresh air?” he asks, his brow still creased in concern. “I saw a signpost for the main gate not far from here, I could take you?—”
“No,” I say quickly—too quickly.
He clears his throat in embarrassment and takes a step back. “Oh. I thought it would help. I’ll just…”
He makes as if to leave me, but I reach out on an impulse, snagging the sleeve of his tunic again. “I’m sorry. It’s a good idea. But I’ll just return to my room. I’m perfectly fine, see?”Now that I’m breathing again, I feel much better. And the last thing I need is to go outside. “I probably need a nap. Make up for my restless sleep.”
Owen’s lips quirk up. “Must have been one of those nights, then. Didn’t sleep much myself.”
I want to ask if he’d been thinking of me, but that would require me to explain myself. I’m torn between wanting to escape his presence and the need to stay by his side. Possibly forever. Which means I’m in grave danger of doing something horrible again, like telling a man I only met last night that he smells nice.
My face feels too warm, my high-necked dress suddenly too constricting. Afraid my throat will close up again, I reach for my collar and undo two buttons, then a third because it feels so good to feel the air on my skin.
Then I look up to find Owen watching me, his gaze riveted on my neck.
Embarrassment hits me again, vicious and hot.He’s human. I remember Willow’s discomfort at undressing herself last night—and of all the other human women who have made their way to the Hill in recent years. When Poppy first arrived, she’d thought that wearing whalebone corsets was the onlyproperway for a woman to dress, and she’d had to get used to our more relaxed ways.
To Owen, unbuttoning my dress likely means that I’m propositioning him. He might even think I’m too improper for him.
I open my mouth to explain myself, but he reaches forward slowly. He seems as enchanted with me as I am with him—and I couldn’t move away for all the gold in the Hill.
He brushes back a lock of my hair that must have come undone from my bun when I was distressed. His fingers barely skim my skin, but just when I think he’ll move away and let me go, he slips his thumb to my chin and down to the hollow of my neck, which I’d just uncovered.
My entire body lights up, a bonfire of want and need. My mate istouchingme, so close I could lean in and kiss him, so handsome, so…
“Fuck.”
Owen drops his hand as if my skin burned him and retreats to the opposite end of the corridor.
He’s breathing hard, his blue eyes wide, his pale skin flushing pink, then draining of color, as if he’s only now realizing what he’s done.
I don’t utter a word. I’m still too caught in the moment, too shocked by his actions. His touch lingers on my skin, the warmth of his fingers imprinted on my memory.
I should have kissed him when I had the chance.
Regret swamps me, and I sway in place, wanting to get closer to Owen, to accept whatever he just offered me because I couldn’t refuse him.
“My lady,” he chokes out, “I didn’t?—”
My heart twists at the honorific he uses. He’s pulling back, and it’s painful to watch how he slowly composes himself. He straightens his shoulders, then runs his fingers through his hair, tugging on it as if he’s thinking of yanking it all out in frustration. Then he blows out a long breath, and his expression shutters.
“This was unforgivable,” he says, his voice hollow. “If you’d like to inform?—”
“No,” I blurt.