As she opened herself to him so he could even more deeply lose himself in her.
His release rolled over him in long shuddering waves.
Eyes closed, Minerva held him close, felt the golden joy of such passionate intimacy well and suffuse her. And knew in her heart, knew to her soul, that letting him go was going to slay her.
Devastate her.
She’d always known that would be the price for falling in love with him.
But she had.
She could swear and curse her own stupidity, but nothing could change reality. Their j
oint realities, which meant they would part.
Destinies weren’t easily changed.
He’d slumped upon her, heavy beyond belief, yet she found his weight curiously comforting. As if her earlier physical surrender was balanced by his.
Their combined heat slowly dissipated and the night air wafted over their cooling bodies. Wriggling and reaching, she managed to snag the edge of the covers and, tugging and flicking, drew the sheet up over them both.
Closing her eyes, she let the familiar warmth enfold her, and drifted, but when he stirred and lifted from her, she came fully, determinedly awake.
He noticed. He met her gaze, then flopped back on the pillows alongside her, reaching to draw her to him, into his side, her head on his shoulder.
That was how they normally slept, but while she let him hold her within his arm, she came up so she could look at his face.
He met her eyes, a faint lift to his brows; she sensed a certain wariness, although, as usual, nothing showed in his face.
Reminding herself she was dealing with a Varisey—a naked male one—and that subtlety therefore would be wasted, she went straight to the question she wanted to ask. “What happened to your five-nights rule?”
He blinked. Twice. But he didn’t look away. “That doesn’t apply to you.”
She opened her eyes wide. “Indeed? So what rule does apply to me? Ten nights?”
His eyes narrowed fractionally. “The only rule that applies to you is that my bed—wherever it is—is yours. There is nowhere else I will allow you to sleep but with me.” One dark brow arched, openly arrogant. “I trust that’s clear?”
She stared into his dark eyes. He wasn’t a fool; he had to marry—and she wouldn’t stay; he knew that.
But had he accepted that?
After a long moment, she asked, “What aren’t you telling me?”
It wasn’t his face that gave him away; it was the faint but definite tension that infused the hard body beneath hers.
He half shrugged, then settled his shoulders deeper into the bed, urging her down again. “Earlier, when you weren’t here, I thought you were sulking.”
A change of subject, not an answer. “After learning about your five-nights rule, then having you ignore me all evening as if I didn’t exist, I thought you were finished with me.” Her tone stated very clearly how she’d felt about that.
Having relieved her lingering ire, she yielded to his importuning, slumped back into his arms and laid her head on his shoulder.
“No.” His voice was low; his lips brushed her temple. “Never that.”
The last words were soft, but definite—and that telltale tension hadn’t left him.
Never?
What was he planning?