He stops before me, putting himself between me and the view of my clothes. Suddenly, any desire for sleep vanishes.
“I think you have an idea,” he says. “Why won’t you share it with me?”
“I don’t know why,” I whisper.
But it’s a lie. Such a lie.
“Why me?” he whispers back, so gently. So invitingly.
Unbidden, the truth rises to my mind.
Because you love me, I realize, but don’t say aloud. That’s why. That special relationship—the one more powerful than anything else. The most human thing there is. That’s what does it.
“Alosa?” he prompts.
“I have a—different relationship with you than I do anyone else.”
“Different,” he repeats, amused. “Different how?”
“You know.”
“I want to hear you say it.”
Maybe it’s the thrill of being able to stay myself while under the water. Maybe it’s the realization of why he is able to keep me human. Or the realization that whether or not I call it what it is, that relationship between us is there. I only need to choose whether or not I want it.
He’s been so open with me. If I want to take this jump with him, it’s my turn.
“I think you love me,” I say.
“I do.”
“And I think I love you.”
“You think?”
“I know.”
He steps even closer to me. One hand slides up my arm from my wrist to my shoulder. He grabs a strand of my hair and twirls it around one of his fingers before bringing it up to his lips.
“What are you thinking about right now?” he asks.
“Just you.” Not anything that’s worrying me or frustrating me. There is only Riden.
He slides his hand to the back of my head to bring my lips to his. He kisses me softly, languorously, savoring every time our lips connect. I melt under that pressure, but manage to yank at his still damp shirt. He helps me take it off. I run my hands over his smooth chest. A torso as perfect as Riden’s should never be covered.
His lips slide down to my throat, and I tilt my head back. He supports me with his hands at the small of my back.
“And what about that girly fellow?” he asks.
“Hmm?”
“Your lover.”
“Oh, I lied about that. I can’t stand Tylon.”
He pulls away just enough to look me in the eye. “Why would you do that?”
“You were being cruel, and I wanted to make you jealous.”
“I think we could argue about who was being more cruel at the time.”
I smile and bring my lips to his shoulder. “Are you saying it worked?”
Instead of answering, he picks me up with a hand under each thigh and braces me against the wall. His lips are on mine again, hard and unrelenting this time. I connect my legs behind his back. My arms tighten around his neck.
I can barely breathe, and I don’t care one bit. Air isn’t what I need to live. It’s him. It’s always been him. Why did it take me so long to realize?
Riden sets me back on my feet so he can roam my body with his hands. They slide up my sides, into my hair, down my back.
This is usually the part where I talk myself out of what I’m doing. Not this time. There is no reason not to kiss Riden. There is no reason not to let him in. No reason not to trust him. He’s what I want.
I spin him around, planting him against the wall. I nip at his lips, trace them with my tongue, listen to his breathing hitch and feel his muscles tighten.
Without breaking the kiss, I start to pull him backward with me, toward my bed. I must have been moving too slowly, though, because he picks me up again and carries me the rest of the way.
He sets me down, lays himself on top of me, but the pressure of his lips never softens, never stills, and I don’t want it to.
I realize my corset is loosening. His fingers, so adept and featherlight, pull at the strings, slipping them from one hole after the next. When he finally gets it open, he splays his fingers across my stomach, which is now covered only by a thin blouse.
His lips leave mine. I’m about to protest when I feel them where his hands once were. They inch lower, and I feel my blouse slowly rise. I shut my eyes, awash in sensation.
Riden pauses with his lips at my navel.
And he sits up.
“What are you doing?” I ask. “Get back here.”
He doesn’t look at me. Instead he starts for the door.
“Riden—”
That’s when I hear it.
Singing.
Oh hell.
Chapter 19
I GRAB RIDEN BY the shoulder and pin his face against the nearest wall in the room.
“Riden, come out of it.”
He strains against me, swings an arm, pushes off the wall with his feet.
“Damn it, Riden. Stop!”
He jerks his head backward, connects with my nose. Blood runs down into my mouth. I wipe it off my face with my arm.
All right, that does it.
I grab the nearest sturdy object within reach, a pretty glass jar from the island of Naula that holds my hairpins.
What a shame, I think as I bring it down on his head.
It shatters, and he goes limp. I rummage through my things until I find the wax I brought for the men. I shove some into Riden’s ears before hurrying outside.
Sorinda has Kearan flat on his back, her sword pommel ready to strike again if the first hit didn’t do the trick.
“Here,” I say, tossing her the wax.
Mandsy and Niridia have Enwen’s arms pinned behind his back as he squirms against the ground. I rush over to help them get his ears covered. Deros is already unconscious on the ground near them, and Niridia approaches him next with a ball of wax.
Then that leaves—
“Papa! Come back here.”
Wallov.
I dash down the stairs, collide with Wallov in his rush to get above deck. The two of us roll head over heels all the way down the steps.
I groan as I rub my head, but Wallov is already back on his feet, ignoring the pain as he tries for the stairs again.
Roslyn races ahead of me and launches herself at Wallov, wrapping her tiny arms around his legs. She gets her legs around him, too, and squeezes with all her might.
It sends him to the ground again, which gives me the time I need to reach them. I dig a knee into his back, force the wax into his ears.
He stills.
“It’s okay, Roslyn,” I say. “You can let go now.”
She does and lets out a long breath. “That was close.”
“You did great,” I tell her.
Wallov stands, rubs at his side, which he must have hit on our tumble down the stairs.
I point to my own ears. He reaches for his, feels the wax. Realization shows in his eyes. Roslyn puts an arm around him. He nods to me.
I leave the two of them, returning up top.
“How are they doing?” I ask Niridia.
“Enwen’s back to himself. Riden, Kearan, and Deros are passed out cold. We tied them to the mast, lest they try to unplug their ears first thing upon waking. Sorinda is keeping an eye on them.”
“Good. The island isn’t even in view yet,” I say.
“I know. Perhaps the sirens are taking a swim away from its shores?”
“Or their song reaches farther than we realized.”
Niridia’s eyes widen. “You really think so?”
“No way to know.”
“It’s probably too much to hope that the king will be caught unawares like we were.”
I snort. “He’ll probably send a ship far ahead of his to test out the waters first.”