He shot her a glance brimful of wicked mischief. “Scared?”
Prue gave a huff of laughter. “That’s the oldest trick in the book.”
Erik lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles, his lips soft and warm. “I’m afraid I’ve sunk to desperate measures, Mistress Prue.” One eye closed in an unrepentant wink. “But I’ll take my punishment like a man.”
Prue shook her head. “Now you’re being silly.” But something warm and foolish melted all through her from the inside out. “Godsdammit,” she said. “I give up. Take me to dinner and be done with it.” She threw a dark glance at Rose’s unresponsive back. You’ ll keep, my dear.
He’d hired one of the fancier skiffs, with a leather seat and an awning to protect against the weather and provide some privacy. He also appeared to be on the best of terms with the skiffwoman. Prue sighed. Was there a woman alive immune to that easy charm?
“You’re still cold, sweetheart. Come here.” Disregarding her protests, Erik tucked Prue under his arm, opening his coat and wrapping it around her. His big body seemed to envelop and overwhelm hers with heat and hardness, the uncompromising density of male muscle and bone.
“Not a word until we get there, all right?” His breath stirred the hair at her temple.
Prue shrugged within the circle of his arm. “Fine.” Idly, she watched the long ripples slip by, burnished by the lights streaming from the buildings on the banks. Erik sighed and rubbed his cheek against her hair. He drew her fractionally closer, his powerful thigh sealed all along hers.
Sister, it was so good to relax into this comfortable silence, no demands, no arguments, no games. Prue’s lashes fluttered down. She didn’t need to be anyone she wasn’t. He’d seen the worst of her, after all. With the rhythmic splash of the skiffwoman’s pole, random thoughts floated in and out of her head, until finally, one stranger than the others snagged her attention.
He was coddling her, courting her as if she were precious. Like a lover. Even more astonishing, she was permitting it.
How long had it been since she’d been cared for this way? Prue frowned, but she couldn’t really bring any occasion to mind since she’d left her home and her parents, so long ago. She swallowed, her pulse accelerating. No wonder his touch was like a drug, soothing and stimulating all at once.
Blankly, she stared at the fine palazzos on the banks of the canal. How amazing. She thought she’d armored herself against him, but Erik the Golden had slipped past her defenses.
Slowly, Prue pushed away from the heat of his body, her heart thudding. Remembering the dark, hot spice of his mouth, the unyielding press of his muscled torso against hers, none of that served any useful purpose. She’d had her moment of self-indulgence. Another taste and it would be too late. Erik Thorensen bore all the hall-marks of a powerful addiction. And when he was gone, she’d be desperate with longing for what she couldn’t have.
He brushed his fingertips over the dimple in her cheek. “Prue?”
She ignored him.
The skiff floated past the Leaf of Nobility, toward a long, low building glowing with lights. The tinkle of glassware and the low buzz of conversation drifted across the water. Prue stiffened, her eyes widening. She knew this place. Exquisite food and wine, secluded booths meant for seduction, hideously expensive.
Merciful Sister, she couldn’t afford to turn her whole life upside down—not to scratch an itch. Prue counted her breaths, shoring up her resolve. Better to make the break tonight rather than later. Logic said it would hurt less . . . Her body ached as if she’d been beaten all over with sticks.
Rose managed these situations with perfect grace and poise. Invariably, the lover kissed her a wistful, lingering good-bye, going his way with precious memories. It didn’t have to be ugly, not between adults.
As Erik handed her out of the skiff, she summoned up a smile.
Two reckless cups of wine later, she’d relaxed enough to hold up her end of the conversation. She’d never have thought it. Chavis had loved to hear himself talk, but part of Erik’s charm was his ability to listen. In the candlelit booth, his eyes shone with what seemed to be genuine interest as she described how she and Rose had made The Garden of Nocturnal Delights the foremost training house in Caracole.
By the time they’d discussed a new musical curriculum for the apprentices, her brain