not advance his seduction of her. Not yet. Even if he wished otherwise. Even if she begged.
He licked his lips and growled at the thought.
A single decision remained then. Should he lie beside her in bed or force her to sleep in this chair?
Again, one question led to others. How would it feel to hold someone in his arms without choking them or stabbing them repeatedly? Good? Better than good? Awful? He’d never spent an entire night with a woman. Or anyone. After sex, he’d only ever stayed long enough to get what he’d planned to get. Secrets. Information. Ammunition.
He despised having someone’s skin pressed against his. Usually. Too much did the sensations remind him of his time with Prince Lark and Hador. Then Chantel came along. Kaysar worked his jaw. They had traded touch after touch, yet he’d rarely harkened to his past. The wonder of her reactions and the shock of his own had kept those thoughts at bay. Which meant...
She had sway over him.
He gnashed his teeth, a habit he’d developed since meeting the princess. What was he going to do about her? About Jareth?
The prince hadn’t followed them inside the outpost—yet. Kaysar should be the one to remain in the chair, at the ready. On the other hand, shouldn’t he try sheltering his living Drendall up close and personal, his body acting as a shield for hers?
He masked a hoarse groan as Chantel exited the bathroom, accompanied by a cloud of steam. Though he hadn’t moved, she startled when she looked his way, executing an abrupt stop. Those magnificent eyes widened, driving him crazy.
“Um. Hi,” she said with a wave.
Kaysar barely stifled another groan as he drank her in. Blood pooled in his shaft. She wore the tunic, and only the tunic. Plump breasts crested by puckered nipples strained the material. Pale, slender legs stretched beneath a hem that stopped mid-thigh.
Breathing became impossible. He balled and opened his free hand, imagining kneading all her soft places. Her damp cheeks possessed a deeper rosy flush than usual. Was she aroused? Damp hair streamed to the middle of her back, the strands longer by the hour. Perfect for fisting.
Her lips parted under the weight of his perusal.
Will. Not. Kiss. Her.
She appeared fully recovered from their excursions, yet he sensed the depths of her exhaustion, and his chest ached. She’d been through much these past few days. Transported into a different realm. The development of unnatural powers. The attentions of a vengeful king.
With slow movements, lest he alarm her, Kaysar set the glass next to the satchel at his feet and rose.
“Get in the bed.” The command rasped from him. But what else should he say? No other words filled his head.
No, not true. Four others sprang to the surface. I’m sleeping with her.
* * *
COOKIE BURROWED UNDER the velvety covers, getting comfortable on the soft mattress. Fatigue owned her, one hundred percent. Or maybe ninety. Apprehension had a piece of her, too. But she had no fight left, too exhausted to think, much less resist Kaysar’s commands. She couldn’t even ready her best or worst defenses against his appeal.
Cookie wanted to cut herself a little slice of Kaysar.
After Nick, she’d considered herself invulnerable to romance, her heart locked in a stronghold, protected by dragons. Somehow, the enigmatic and ferocious Kaysar was scaling her towers, making her wonder and want and wish. What would a relationship with him be like? Or at least a roll in the hay?
Hunger abated for the first time in days, she should have no trouble sleeping. But each time her mind began its shutdown, a thought about Kaysar popped up, inviting others. She alternated between being too cold and too hot.
Her dark king remained near the hearth, breathing with force, as if he struggled with a choice.
“Are you planning to watch me sleep?” she asked, curious.
“Maybe.”
He’d been mostly quiet since they’d entered the outpost. Now, firelight bathed him, outlining his powerful body and illuminating the lines etched into his forehead. He was opening and closing his hands at his sides. An action he had performed before.
What thoughts tumbled through his mind?
“Kaysar?”
“I’m sleeping with you. Only sleeping.” He stalked across the room, stopping here and there to snuff out the lamps. As darkness thickened, she thawed, glad for the reprieve. “Tonight,” he intoned, “you rest, nothing more. So rest hard. You might not get another chance.”
A warning? Or a promise? She couldn’t tell.
He paused at the side of the bed, and she held her breath.