Page 59 of Keeping a Nymph’s Heart

Mine.

The word ran through his mind just as it had when his father threatened Orla’s life. The rational part of his mind knew that Orla wasn’t his. She wasn’t anyone’s. She was her own person. But that emotional part of him didn’t care.

Owain rose so quickly his chair made a loud scraping sound against the wooden floor. He walked over to Orla and the orcess, interrupting whatever conversation they were having.

“I need to speak with you,” he said, grabbing her by the elbow. The orcess looked questioningly from Owain to Orla.

“I’m busy,” she said, not looking at him.

“Now, Orla.” He dragged her up the stairs to their room. With the door closed behind them, Orla spun on Owain.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she hissed.

“I should ask you the same thing. Why are you flirting with some gorgeous orcess right in front of me when you know how I feel about you?”

“I didn’t expect you to care.”

“Bullshit, Orla. Tell me the truth. Why her?”

Several long moments passed. Orla’s gaze flitted from the floor to the window, then to the small hearth. Looking anywhere but directly at Owain.

“I wanted you to feel jealous.” She finally said in all but a whisper.

“Why?” He stared into her eyes, moving closer to her and invading her space as she backed up towards the door. “Why, Orla?”

Owain pressed his hands on the door next to her head, caging her in.

“Because I felt jealous of you and Vasha. And I know that is stupid, and I have no right to be jealous, but I was.” She looked up into his pale blue eyes, and he knew she saw the heat in his gaze.

“I told you, I am not interested in her. I’m not interested in anyone else. You and I both know I am only interested in you.”

Before she could respond, he leaned down and kissed her.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

The kiss was fierce and demanding. A claiming. One of Owain’s hands went to grip the nape of her neck while the other held firm to her waist. She kissed him back with equal fervor. She had missed him, missed this. That cedar and charcoal scent of him. The way his tongue felt against hers. The way his body felt as they melded themselves together. He moved against her, pressing his growing erection into her stomach, but she pulled away.

Part of her was screaming to continue. Screaming to finish what they had started back in Imsil. But another part of her knew that she couldn’t. She believed that Owain was never going to kill her. But it didn’t stop her heart from hurting. He had been the reason she was distracted in Fontina. The reason Rhyan had died. The reason her kingdom was now in the hands of a monster like King Vernon.

For all his care now, she didn’t know if she could ever forgive him for that. Orla knew that she couldn’t fully trust him, and she couldn’t be with him if she didn’t trust him. Her heart was too fragile.

“I can’t, Owain,” she said, panting. She looked up at him, and knew he saw the hurt that lingered in her eyes. Knew that while she may want him physically, she couldn’t give herself to him emotionally.

Nodding, he moved away from her.

“I’m sorry, Orla. I never meant to hurt you as much as I did. And I’m so sorry I broke us, that I broke your trust. But by the Gods, I am going to fight to get it back.”

Chapter Forty

Dust motes danced in the stream of sunlight coming from the gap in the tattered brown curtains over the room’s tiny window. The inn’s small bed was surprisingly soft, though after two weeks sleeping on a bedroll, almost anything would be an improvement over where he had been resting. Orla had insisted they share the bed even though Owain had offered to sleep on the floor.

Ever the earlier riser, Owain relished the early mornings before Orla was awake. He would drink in her every feature, committing her to memory each morning. Inhaling her wildflower scent, Owain let himself fantasize about what it would have looked like to wake up next to her if he had told her the truth. Not holding her when she was this close felt physically painful. She wore a white cotton nightgown that had shifted in the night to reveal a peek at one of her dark nipples.

This morning’s particular fantasy involved him imagining waking her up with his mouth over that dark bud. He would suck and tease her until she was writhing beneath him, begging him to touch her. If he tried hard enough, he could pretend they were in Imsil, and this was one of many mornings they had spent together. But this wasn’t Imsil, and she had made her feelings about him perfectly clear. She may care about him, but she no longer wanted him.

Groaning and stretching her arms overhead, Orla opened her eyes, puffy with sleep, to find Owain staring at her. For long minutes, they stayed like that, staring into each other’s eyes. A million unspoken things passed between them. Hurt, fear, longing, need. Unable to help himself, Owain ghosted his thumb down the side of her cheek. The touch was so light that he wondered if Orla had even felt it. With that same light touch, he stroked down her arm until he reached her hand, lacing his fingers between hers. He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, afraid to end the moment, unsure that they would ever have another like it. Finally, Owain broke the spell of their silence.

“We should get dressed.” Nodding almost imperceptibly, Orla untangled her fingers from Owain’s and turned her back to him.