The fire in the grate had burned down to glowing embers, casting a deep, red-orange light across the room.
Carcel held Ines tight against his chest. She was sitting on his lap, her back to him, her body warm and soft against his hard frame. He buried his nose in the curve of her neck, inhaling the scent of her skin. She smelled of the night air, of the exertion of her run, and of the lavender soap she always used. It was a scent that made his head spin.
He tightened his arm around her waist, pulling her even closer, until there was no space left between them.
"Even if you were a maid," he whispered, his voice vibrating against her skin, "or if I were a servant…"
He paused, pressing a kiss to the sensitive spot just below her ear.
"I would still desire you this much," he vowed. "The clothes do not matter. The titles do not matter. It is you. It is just you."
