Gideon felt her breath quicken. She liked the sound of that.
He was wearing her down.
“You won’t come to resent me?” she whispered.
“For what?” His breath tangled with hers.
“For being shallow and silly.”
“You aren’t those things, Rune.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Sometimes I will be.”
“Sometimes I’ll be a brute. Can you handle that?”
Rune cocked her head. “I think so.” A small smile tugged at her mouth. “Yes.” She ran her hands up his chest and over his shoulders, sliding her fingers into his hair.
“Do you need more persuading?”
“Mmm, yes please,” she murmured, tugging his mouth down to hers. “Try using fewer words this time.”
Gideon laughed against her lips, then hiked her onto his hips and carried her back to the bed.
* * *
THE NEXT MORNING, GIDEON woke to a sleeping Rune tucked against his chest. Right where she was supposed to be. Her rose-gold hair spilled across the white pillows, and from this close, he could count every freckle speckling her shoulders.
He’d half expected to wake in an empty bed, every trace of her gone. Or, worse, discover he’d dreamt it.
But she was still here. And it felt right. Like she belonged in his bed, curled up against him.
Touching his lips to her shoulder, Gideon breathed her in.
Rune didn’t wear the artificial perfumes so popular among the New Republic’s elite. She didn’t smell like lilacs or jasmine or roses; she smelled like herself. Like standing at the edge of the bluffs after a storm. Like a gulp of fresh sea air.
Gideon wanted to inhale her.
Rune stirred, her grip tightening on the sheets between them. Gideon froze, watching her forehead crease in a frown. Like she was having an unpleasant dream. He wanted to touch his thumb to that crease. Gently rub it away.
Rune tried to cuddle closer. She slid her leg between both of his and bent her knee, hooking them tighter together. Satisfied, she fell still again, drifting deeper.
I’m afraid you’ll be the end of me.
Gideon wanted to convince her that she couldn’t be more wrong.
He waited until she was fast asleep again before gently untangling their legs and carefully removing himself from the bed. After dressing, he finally tore his eyes away from her to brew himself a cup of coffee. Then he strode downstairs and into his parents’ old studio.
With Rune’s words still clanging through his head, he opened the door to a shallow closet he hadn’t opened in years. He flicked the wall switch and the light inside sputtered to life, illuminating a space full of dusty boxes.
Gideon glanced to the uppermost shelf, where an odd assortment of books was stacked. It was his mother’s collection, books she’d used for inspiration. When he found the one he wanted—an encyclopedia of wildflowers—he pulled it down, blew the dust off, then cracked it open.
He skimmed the pages until he found the entry he was looking for. Opening the book wider, he studied the botanical drawing before him.
Perhaps there was a way to prove his intentions were genuine.
Gideon had started toward the fabrics when someone knocked on the shop door. Wondering who would visit at this hour, he left the encyclopedia on the table and went to answer it.
Harrow stood on the other side. Half of her face was battered, and a curve of black stitches arced down her cheek. One of her arms was in a splint.
“Shouldn’t you still be in the hospital?” he asked.
Beside Harrow stood Laila, out of uniform, her dark brown hair pulled back in an elegant bun.
“He talked.”
Both girls pushed past him into the room.
“Who talked?” asked Gideon, shutting the door behind them.
“The print shop owner,” Laila answered. “We arrested him early this morning and brought him into custody.”
Harrow turned a chair at the worktable backward and plunked herself onto it.
“A student at the university paid him for the use of his storeroom, alleging to need it for a school project. The owner says he didn’t know what it was being used for.”
Gideon crossed his arms. “He didn’t find it suspicious that a student required the use of a storeroom?”
Laila’s shoulders lifted. “The money must have been enough to stifle his curiosity.”
“Did you get the student’s name?”
Laila shook her head. “Only a description. Based on his account, the sketch artist drafted this likeness.” She slid her hand into the pocket of her trousers and pulled out a folded piece of paper, holding it out to Gideon.