"Marry you?" Dark lashes shuttered his eyes. "Because I realized you suited my purposes. It was expected that I would marry at some point, but I've never wanted a wife. The lifestyle I lead... it doesn't lend itself to being a husband. I have no time for a wife. And I did not wish to give some young woman the wrong impression—that ours would be any sort of match beyond contractual. I gave my heart once, Adele. There is nothing left for another woman."
"And here I was," she whispered, understanding exactly what he meant. "A wife who would be content to accept a match in name only. Someone who would make no demands of you, nor one who... who wanted your heart."
"Exactly."
She felt a little ill.
Because while she might have portrayed such an impression to the world, it wasn't what she wanted at all.
Water dripped over her shoulders as Malloryn continued washing her back. "And so you provoke me because...?"
Because I want you to look at me. Because you frustrate me. Because you attract me. Because there's a part of me that wants to know what it feels like to wake in your arms.
Because I want what Lena has.
She rested her chin on her knees, closing her eyes briefly. God, what a mess. How was she to obfuscate the truth now?
"My father ignored me all my life," she admitted. "I've always been his greatest possession, but he never truly valued me for me. But you.... You were distant and cool, but occasionally I would see your eyes light up when we sparred. And it sounds ridiculous, but you gave as good as you got, and sometimes you'd almost smile at something I said and it felt like a compliment."
"You enjoyed torturing me."
"I hate it when you ignore me."
"Then I won't ignore you." He hesitated. "You're going to fall asleep in the bath if you continue."
"Don't let me drown."
He laughed under his breath. "Never. Here." He reached for a towel. "Stand up."
Adele didn't bother to argue. She slowly unfolded herself and let Malloryn wrap the towel around her.
Bubbles sluiced down her thighs as he tucked the edge of the towel between her breasts to anchor it. Then his hands came to rest upon her waist.
Where they stayed.
Adele set her palms on his shoulders, as his gaze dipped to her breasts. Despite her pain and exhaustion, she felt that heated gaze like a caress.
"Malloryn?" she whispered.
When he looked up, his irises were flooded with pure black—a sure sign the craving had him in its grip.
Her breath caught.
Only blood thirst, sexual hunger, or the sheer possessive nature of the predator roused that sort of look.
But which one was it?
"For all your fancy words, I'm going to start thinking you have wicked intentions if you keep looking at me like that," she said.
"I don't."
Liar.
Adele arched a brow. She could feel the towel slipping free from its hold. "And yet, your eyes are black. Do you want me, Malloryn?" She brushed her thumb to the base of his throat. "Do you want my blood?"
There. The muscle ticked in his jaw. "No."
"Liar," she breathed. "That is one problem with the craving virus. It betrays itself when the predator rises. You want my blood, don't deny it."
"I thought you sought to avoid such predators?" His lips thinned. "And I was trying to be considerate, what with your past. It's merely a result of my not drinking enough today, and the consequences of the ball. It will pass. Or I'll send for some blud-wein."
It wasn't the bloodletting she had a problem with. Husbands and wives often shared blood privileges. "I trust you. I never thought I'd say that about a blue blood, but I trust you. You wouldn't hurt me. And it would be my choice to allow it."
"No," he said, as if the only lifeline he had in this moment was to repeat the word.
Damn him. "You're such a stubborn bastard."
"And you're a distraction I cannot afford."
A distraction, am I? Her eyes narrowed. "Better than being a coward."
Oh, that earned her a heated look. "No one has ever dared say that to my face before—"
"Well, I'm not afraid of you. And you can lie to yourself all you want, but you know I speak the truth. Maybe you didn't want a wife. And maybe I'm not asking for your heart. Just your presence in my bed. Why are you so determined not to touch me? You keep saying it's dangerous, that this might cause complications between us, but do you know what I think? I think you're afraid if you touch me, you won't be able to stop."
Heat blazed in his eyes. "I told you—"
"You've told me a lot of things. Perhaps we should test my theory?" Lifting her arms, Adele felt the towel slip loose.
He caught it at her waist, but the damage was done.
A harsh exhale escaped him as he glanced down at her bare breasts, all flushed and pink.
"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded. "You're injured."
"Then be gentle with me."
Make love to me.
The blackness was back in his eyes. "I don't think I can tonight. There. Is that the truth you desire? That I want your blood? That I want to take you to bed and make sweet use of that body you flaunt in front of me? All night long. In every way you can possibly imagine, and some you probably can't." Sweeping his arm behind her knees, he lifted her out of the water as it dripped from her legs. And then he was setting her on her feet and toweling the water from her skin with rough, insistent hands. "Don't push me. Not tonight. Because I won't be gentle, Adele. And you need gentleness. I am doing my duty."
Duty. Oh, how that word burned. "Duty as my husband?"
Tugging the nightshirt down over her head, he met her eyes. "Yes."
His own were dark, the hunger eating up all the light in his world. Not immune. No matter how much he pretended to be.
"Then I have been remiss in my duty as your wife. Let me make it up to you."
She lifted on her toes and pressed her mouth to his. It had been days since he'd kissed her. Days of heated looks that belied the cool words that kept her at bay. Days of frantic yearning.
A desperate sound escaped him.
But he didn't push her away.
And his mouth softened beneath hers, before he surged against her with a furious claim.
Adele slid her arms around his neck, hungry for more. The nightgown clung to damp patches of her skin, a thin barrier between her soft curves and the hard planes of his body.
Firm fingers dug into her waist, and then one hand splayed over the curve of her bottom, drawing her against him.