RAVYN'S POV
I didn't know what was worse—the silence, or the fact that I could feel every slow breath he took behind me.
The bright afternoon sun painted golden shadows across the courtyard stones, gilding the edge of the soldiers' training grounds and the satin hem of split training skirt. But here, beneath this umbrella of shade, the heat came from somewhere else entirely.
Luc hadn't moved much since I sat—on his lap, no less—but his presence wound around me like steam from a boiling kettle. Thick. Pressing. Dangerous. His arm lay draped along the iron table beside us, fingers absently tapping against the goblet, carving out a rhythm only he could hear.
And every now and then—accidentally, I told myself—his knuckles brushed mine.
But then he did it again.
Slow. Intentional.
His hand shifted slightly and two fingers ghosted along the ridge of my collarbone. Just once.
