Though her voice was calm, panic gleamed in her eyes. She understood all too well what he meant. He let his hand drift past her throat. Her already puckered ni**les seemed to become harder, as if straining for his touch. "If you wish to discover the answer, you have to play the game."
He brushed his fingers across the top of her br**sts, circling but not touching the dark centers. She took a deep, shuddery breath. "What game?"
"Pretense."
"Which is?"
"Let's pretend we are lovers. Let's pretend it's the night before the full moon, and we are about to promise our souls to each other."
She studied him for several heartbeats, her expression a mix of confusion and alarm. "Why?"
"Because I've never had a true lover, just dancers."
She hesitated. "I'm not sure this a game I can play."
"Why not?" He gently plucked one nipple.
Goose bumps fled across her skin, and her pupils dilated, almost swallowing the new-leaf green of her irises. "Because I don't see the point of it."
He shifted his touch to her other breast, this time rolling the firm nub between his fingertips. "It's not the night of promising, Neva. No harm can come from pretending."
"Can you be sure? The magic might lie in the ritual itself rather than the night."
"Have you ever heard of the ritual being performed on any other night but the one before the full moon?"
"No, but — "
"No buts. Just yes or no."
Neva took another deep breath. His gentle touch shuddered through every fiber of her being, and though she wanted him with a fierceness that was almost painful, she feared to pretend what lay between them was anything more than just a dance. Because such pretense might lead to the examination of feelings she'd managed to avoid up until now. "What if I say no?"
"Then you go to bed and rest as the doctor ordered."
"That's sexual blackmail."
"No, that's honesty. This one time, I want more than just a dance."
She closed her eyes. It was a risk. She knew in her heart it was a risk because no one truly knew any more if the magic of promising was confined to the one night. And because, deep down, she knew her heart was already on the line, and this might tip it over the edge and down the hill toward heartbreak.
But could she let him walk away tomorrow or the day after without knowing what it might be like to be truly loved by this man?
He raised a hand, cupping her cheek. It felt like he was branding her skin for eternity. "Your answer?"
No. "Yes."
He smiled, his dark eyes filled with a heat that caused a meltdown deep inside her. He caught her hand and tugged her onto the rug near the hearth. The thick fur pressed against her toes, and the warmth of the flames caressed her skin but seemed oddly cool compared to the fire burning inside and out.
He pressed her fingers against his chest. The heat of his body and his warm, woody scent washed across her senses, stirring her in ways she'd never thought possible. And the wild beat of his heart under her fingertips only fueled her desire to greater heights.
"Does my lady know what night it is?"
His voice was little more than a stroke of sound, yet it seemed to sing through every part of her. She took a deep breath and released it slowly. His question was the start of the ritual. If she replied, if the magic could be raised on nights other than the one before the full moon, she could bind herself for eternity to a man who did not love her. Because once begun, there was no retreat. Not unless the participants were familiar with the paths of magic.
But if she didn't reply, if the magic couldn't be raised on any other night, she'd miss the chance to know what it might be like to be the woman he loved enough to commit to.
Pretense, he'd said, nothing more. She could pretend she loved him. Pretend that he loved her. Even if it broke her heart.
"It is the night before the full moon. The night of promises." She briefly closed her eyes against the sudden sting of tears. Deep down, part of her wished that this was real. That the words were real. That he truly did love her.