These Twisted Bonds (These Hollow Vows, #2)(93)

Chapter Twenty-Two

The new day brings more sun, but my mood is as dark as a moonless night.

If Finn ever came back to the tent last night, I missed it, and this morning he popped in to leave me a tray of coffee and let me know that we’ll be leaving in an hour for our meeting with the priestess.

Now he’s busy elsewhere—probably speaking with Juliana again, but I try not to think too much about that. Or about where he may have been all night.

The same servant from yesterday has drawn me a bath and left me alone, and I’m determined to soak in the fragrant water until my ugly mood washes away. I strip off my sleeping gown and undergarments, tossing them in the corner.

The tent flap opens, and I spin around, arms crossed over my bare chest, eyes wide. Finn steps inside and lets the flaps close behind him. When he turns, he freezes at the sight of me. He looks so shocked, I half expect him to race back out of the tent. He doesn’t.

Instead, he leisurely looks me over, an expression on his face that I can’t begin to make sense of.

He prowls forward, closing the space between us and making my heart race. He stops a step away, and our eyes meet. He smells like rain. Like earth and sky and . . . lust.

I hold my breath, unsure if I really want the heat of his hands on my bare skin, unsure if I can handle the complication of his mouth on mine right now—and wanting it all anyway.

He reaches around me, the sleeve of his tunic brushing my arm as he takes a robe that’s hanging on the side of the tent. He holds it open for me, and my cheeks blaze.

I just stand here.

Naked.

In front of him.

Just stand here and wait for him to touch me. To take me. Just like I waited in that bed for him last night. And he was only grabbing a robe.

“You might be more comfortable in this,” he says when I don’t move.

“I’m sorry. The bath is warm, and since there’s time before we need to leave, I thought I might as well . . .” I’m rambling, so I bite my bottom lip and make myself shut up. I haven’t made a move to put on the robe. I’m far too self-conscious to drop my arms now that I know he only wants to cover me.

Finn drapes the robe around my shoulders and does his best to close the front. “For the record,”

he says, his voice a little rough, “you don’t ever need to apologize for greeting me like that. But while there might be time for a bath, we don’t have nearly enough time for”—I hear the smile in his voice even if I’m too much of a coward to look at his face—“more interesting activities. So unless you want us to be very late to meet the High Priestess, you should probably stay covered.”

I quickly shove my arms through the sleeves of the robe and tie the belt. “Thanks,” I whisper, still avoiding his gaze.

He takes my chin in his hand and lifts my face until my eyes meet his. His expression is serious, his eyes searching. “What’s wrong, Princess?”

“Nothing. I . . .”

“You’re being uncharacteristically quiet.”

I scoff. He’s barely been around to know. “You’re the one who was out all night, my supposed betrothed—” I cut myself off with a shake of my head. I’m sick of hearing myself talk, so I loop my arms behind his neck and lift onto my toes, pressing my mouth to his the way I wanted to last night.

He groans softly and sweeps his lips over mine. I’m grateful for the excuse to stop rambling, but it’s nothing compared with the relief of finally feeling his warm mouth on mine again. I plaster my body against his.

He grips my shoulders and steps back, putting space between us.

“Why are you pulling away?” I ask softly, even though I don’t have the right to ask. Not when everything’s such a mess. Not when I don’t even know what I want from him. But if nothing else, Finn is my friend, and the thought of losing that makes my heart ache. “Why didn’t you come back last night?”

He drops his hands and stares at the pitched roof of the tent for a long beat before rubbing the palms of his hands against his eyes. “You really don’t know?”

I swallow hard. “Don’t know what?”

He huffs, the muscle in his jaw ticking. He closes his eyes as he says, “There’s nothing in the world I want more than to peel that robe off you. I want to lay you on that bed and see if the rest of you tastes as sweet as your lips and neck.”

My stomach pinches tight and flips. He’s saying these things that, gods help me, I want to hear, and at the same time he’s taking another step back.

His eyes trail over my face, down to my robe, then up to my neck. “I’m haunted by your taste. By the sounds you make when you’re turned on.”

Heat races through my blood and my breathing turns choppy.

“I remember the way it felt to have you fall apart in my arms. I think about it every day.”

I can’t breathe. I’ve thought about that night too. I was drugged, but the lust, the desire, the attraction to Finn—that was there without the wine. It always has been. I step forward, close enough to touch. “Finn—”

“I’m not interested in pretending I don’t want you, that I don’t think about you constantly. It’s insulting to us both.” He swallows, and his gaze dips from my face to the V of my robe. His hand follows the same path, grazing down my neck and over my collarbone to between my breasts, where he nudges the silky fabric to the side.