“I know. But I wanted to see you.” When I turned to retrieve the basket from my guard, I found him red-faced, staring at the wall. “And I brought a picnic.”
She looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. Maybe I had. “Is there anything good?”
“Scones and wine.”
I couldn’t believe it when she opened the door wider and told me to come inside.
Roisin had only been staying in my room for two nights, and yet it already smelled like her. I tried not to look toward the unmade bed where she’d been sleeping, warm and snuggled—and presumably without the silk robe tied hastily around her slender waist.
My stomach tightened as I turned toward the fireplace and set the basket on the rug. After being in my father’s suffocating room, the space felt chilly. I added a few coals to the grate and banked the fire while she unpacked the picnic.
“Did you bring plates?” she asked, elbow-deep in the basket.The crackling fire made her silver waves glisten like icicles.
Bollocks. “No.”
A smile played on her lips as she withdrew the cork from the wine and shook the bottle. “How about glasses?”
I shook my head.
“This is the worst picnic I’ve ever been on,” she said with a laugh, taking a sip directly from the bottle.
“Then go back to bed and I will eat and drink on my own.” I snagged the bottle from her and took a swig, my stomach instantly revolting at the taste of sour fruit.
She stole it back and grinned before taking another sip. “You woke me, which means you have to feed me.”
“Is that some fae law I don’t know about?”
“If it’s not, it should be.” She handed me a scone before peering back into the empty basket. “There’s no butter either, is there?”
Dammit. “Next time, you can organize the picnic.”
“Agreed.”
Meaning there would be a next time. I’d feed her midnight picnics for as long as she’d let me.
“What brings you to my room at”—she glanced toward the clock—“half two in the morning?”
The bottle in my hand shook when I brought it to my lips. “Technically, it’smyroom.”
Her cheeks flushed, and I made the mistake of looking toward the bed. Her gaze followed mine, and her blush spread to her neck, down her throat, to her chest.
“Don’t worry, I’m not here to perform my husbandly duties.” Unless she wanted to. Then I would absolutely rise to the occasion.
Her gaze dropped to the half-eaten scone in her hand.
Right. No duties tonight. But she didn’t tell me there was no way in hell it would ever happen, so I took her lack of response as a small victory.“I am here to build a bridge,” I said, handing off the bottle in favor of a bruised apple that tasted almost as bad as the wine. I only managed two sour bites before throwing it into the fire.
Roisin’s brow furrowed as she picked a raisin from the scone and popped it into her mouth. “What does that mean?”
“I was speaking with my father tonight, and he said—”
She reached for my knee. “You spoke with him tonight?”
She was touching me. Willingly.Dammit. I needed to calm down and focus on something besides how amazing the heat from her hand felt burning through my breeches. I looked at the bed again. And now I was looking at her mouth.
Where was that wine? I gripped the bottle’s slender neck and took another gulp. “I did. Just before I came here.”
Her fingers contracted. “How is he?”