Robin sat, and then proceeded to lie down in the thick carpet of grass. “Come lie next to me, pet, so that I may hold your hand.”
Her lips twitched. “Did you read my mind?”
“I see truth, Nix, of all forms.” His smile turned her insides to mush.
She could say no, but she didn’t want to. Toeing off her silver sandals, she went over to him and lay down beside him.
Robin rolled over, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her flush to his body, just like they had last night. And though she felt the jab of his hard length poke against her bottom, he was a gentleman.
They lay like that for a while, getting used to each other’s breathing, working through the anxiety of being so close and still unable to give in fully to the temptation. If not as together as she might have liked, he was with her, he was holding her, his heat suffusing her own.
She wished she could stay in this moment forever. One of her favorite things to do with Eric had been the cuddling more than the sex, not that the sex hadn’t been fun. But she’d always felt the connection grew deeper with just the caressing.
Sighing, she snuggled her head into the crook of his elbow as his fingers played through her curls.
“We don’t read our own tales, because they can be, at times, almost self-fulfilling prophecies.”
She frowned, but she forgot her question, when his hand moved ever so gently from her hair down along the length of her ribs.
“If our books say we’re to meet our grisly end at claws of some beast, well, you can see the problem. Aye?”
She nodded.
“I’ve no knowledge how I’ll take down Crispin, but I know I’ll will.”
Nixie shook her head. Understanding now why her father had always hated the fairy stories. “Robin, Crispin doesn’t even exist in those stories. Your villain is the Sherriff of Nottingham.”
He chuckled. “And there is your answer then. Though there are truths to the tales, they’re stretched so thin and sparingly as to make it impossible to tell what is fact and what is fiction.”
Fiction.
Was she fiction?
Had Danika lied to her?
Even if she was the supposed Marian, did that mean she and Robin were meant to be? Or was this, as he’d said, a self-fulfilling prophecy? She wanted it to be true, and so therefore was she orchestrating events to make it happen?
“You’ve gone stiff,” he whispered. “Nixie, I don’t—”
Not knowing what he might say, but knowing that she needed to change the subject before it went places it couldn’t, she said, “Tell me about Crispin.”
He released a sound like he’d been punched before he gave a soft chuckle. “Smart woman.”
She tried, but failed, to keep the answering grin off her face.
“Crispin. My brother.”
His hand stopped moving, and finally she could breathe, even though she hadn’t minded the not breathing either.
“To understand him, you’d need to go back to the beginning. To the day he killed my mother and father...”
Chapter 17
She rolled over, until now she faced him, and even in the thick darkness, he could read the startled surprise in her eyes. “He killed your parents? His own mother and father?”
It amazed him sometimes how wrong he’d gotten her. She’d killed, herself. He’d thought her heartless and cruel when he’d first found his genie. Now, he could not see her in that light. She’d killed protecting an innocent. The situation between her and his brother had been entirely different.
Robin tucked a curl of hair behind her ear, biting the corner of his lip hard, to help ground him and remind him to stop. Help him to pull his hand back to his side.
Her curves were so soft and warm and generous in just the right places. He wanted to lose himself in her body, in her scent, felt her wetness coat his fingers once more. Only the thought of causing her more pain made him keep still. He hoped she didn’t feel the sudden tremble roll through him.
“To call them his parents is to dishonor their memory in my mind. Because no child of the heart could have done to them what he did.”
Brown eyes roamed his face with a quickness that said she was desperately curious and terrified to ask.
Looking straight at her was making it difficult for him to focus. Making sure to keep one ear open to any possible intruders, Robin lay down on his back and stared up at the stars, conjuring the memories of a most painful adolescence.
“We were ten. Crispin was full of piss and vinegar. I was the firstborn, which automatically entitled me the keys to the realm. To the castle. To the people. He resented me for it.”
A blazing comet of brilliance cut across the clear navy sky. The heavens were a genie’s true domain. He’d never been as cognizant of the stars and the sky as he now was.
She rested her head on her fist. Robin wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to look at the stars the same way again.