“Which book would you like for me to read?” she asked.
“I don’t care,” he told her. “Why don’t you pick one that you’re interested in?”
“All right.” She hesitated then chose a Dark Fae story and settled on one corner of the bed, leaning back against the headboard with one leg bent and tucked underneath her.
He closed his eyes as she began to read. The liquid notes of her voice filled the room, shaping words that created a story, but he did not care about that. He merely listened to the sound of her voice, the intonation and inflection, and the cadence she gave to each sentence, as if he was listening to a solo musician. It was incredibly soothing.
She halted, faltering into silence, as he turned onto his side and nuzzled her thigh, resting one relaxed hand on her knee. He refused to pull away or regret the move, and after a pause she resumed the story, her voice much softer.
After a few moments more, a light, gentle weight came down on the back of his head. She rested her hand on him as she read.
Naida had not been affectionate. They had maintained separate bedrooms, coming together for sex but never sleeping in the same bed. He had accepted that about her. Some people simply weren’t.
He was affectionate.
He smiled and slipped into a doze.
Sometime later, he roused as the bed shifted and Xanthe began to ease away. Without really thinking about it, he tightened his hand on her knee, murmuring, “Stay.”
She drew in a quick breath, the slight sound seemed loud in the silence of the bedroom. She said softly, “I thought you had fallen asleep.”
“I did. You moved.” His voice was gravelly.
“I’m sorry I woke you.”
He yawned and rolled onto his back, then opened his eyes to look at her. She wore an uncertain, vulnerable expression that squeezed at his chest. She would never be one for the cynical dalliances that the nobility indulged in. He lifted his hand to her, she took it and he pressed her fingers.
He told her quietly, “The bed is large, and there is more than enough room for two. You could even sleep with the covers between us if you like. No matter what you may have been used to in the past, I would feel better knowing that you weren’t on the cold hard floor, but it is entirely up to you. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable in any way.”
She was silent for so long. As he waited, he urged her, do it. Choose to do what you really want.
At last she whispered, “I’ll stay.”
Tension had gathered in his limbs as he waited for her to decide. At her words it released, leaving a lingering lightness that felt like joy. He slid over as she shrugged out of her trousers, revealing long, gorgeous pale legs. Without looking at him, she lifted the top quilt and slipped into bed, leaving the sheet and a cotton blanket as a privacy barrier between them. The last thing she did was blow out the lamp before she settled with a sigh.
He kept his breathing soft and even, even as desire flooded his body.
Then she said in entirely prosaic exasperation, “Rats. We should have eaten up the rest of the clotted cream at supper, and I forgot all about it.”
He lay frozen for a moment, all thought suspended. When he burst out laughing, she chuckled too.
He rolled over, and despite the barrier between them, he pulled her into his arms and hugged her. She came willingly, fitting herself to him, one arm tucked around him as he guided her head onto his shoulder. He pressed his lips to her forehead, lingering over the caress and stroked her still damp hair. She nuzzled at his bare shoulder, breathing deeply as she settled and, muscle by muscle, relaxed.
Holding her gave him a feeling of incredible rightness, comfort and relief. When he slept, for the first time in a very long time, there was no pain.
When he opened his eyes again, it was full morning and he was alone. Disappointed, he laid a hand on the pillow she had used. It was still warm. She had only just left the bed.
His body had the memory of holding Xanthe through the night. At one point, she curled onto her side and he moved too, curling behind her to spoon with her, one arm wrapped around her waist. She had laced her fingers through his as he buried his nose in her soft, silken hair.
Now she moved around in the other room. The quiet sounds were already comforting and familiar. Cautiously he tried a full body stretch. The muscles in his back still gave a twinge, but the warning no longer seemed filled with dire consequences. He should start some exercises today.
He rose out of bed, reveling in the sense of his returning strength, and slipped on a clean pair of trousers. Then he left the bedroom to commence stalking the woman he meant to make his lover.
She knelt at the hearth, laying wood for a morning fire. Her hair was loose and tousled, and her cheek was creased from the pillow linens—and there, it happened again. She had grown even more beautiful to him.