He reached for her wrist, stopping her. Rune looked up to find his attention fixed on the hand he’d captured.
Without speaking, his fingertips gently grazed her palm. Her heart climbed into her throat as he traced her fingers slowly, slowly, like he knew exactly what he was doing. Like he’d done it thousands of times before.
She swallowed, her skin sparking where he touched her.
Gideon leaned in, brushing his rough cheek against hers.
“Rune …” His breath was warm against her throat. “Do you want to go back?”
“Back?” she murmured.
“To the party.” His fingers traced down her neck and across her collarbone. “Your guests will wonder where we are.”
He was giving her an escape if she wanted it. Like a gentleman.
The thought startled her.
She shook her head. “Let them wonder. Unless …”
Rune pulled back a little, peering into his face. She saw now that his eyes weren’t black, but a deep, dark brown. “Do you want to go back?”
He gave her an incredulous look. “And do what? Make conversation with Bart Wentholt?” He scowled. “I have more stimulating conversations with my horse.”
It was so unexpected—Gideon Sharpe, making a joke—that a laugh burst out of Rune.
He let go of her hand, falling quiet. When her giggling subsided, she looked over to find a thoughtful expression on his face.
“Your laugh is like a fuse,” he said. “It lights you up.”
Rune’s heart thudded. No one had ever told her that before.
He doesn’t mean it.
Gideon Sharpe was a cold, heartless murderer. Not a softhearted suitor. He played the same game she did, and was more skilled at it than she’d thought.
Fear nipped at her.
Perhaps bringing him here had been a mistake.
Her gaze trailed over him: the broadness of his chest and shoulders, the corded muscles in his arms, the shadow of soon-to-be stubble darkening his cheeks. He was so much bigger than her. If he wanted to, he could easily lift her from this seat and carry her to the bed.
Rune froze.
Where had that thought come from?
She reached for the cup of wine, a little shaky, no longer caring about the spell it carried—she was already enchanted—and took another sip, careful to conceal the bottom with her cupped hands. She needed to calm her nerves. Their eyes locked over the lip of the cup, and Rune slowly lowered the wine into her lap.
As if knowing the effect he had on her, Gideon leaned in. Again, he lingered. Touching his temple to hers, running the backs of his fingers tenderly up her arm. Her skin blazed in his wake. His touch was stronger than the drink, pulling her under.
How is he so good at this?
Rune closed her eyes, trying to stay in control. “How much time do you have?”
“My next shift starts at dawn.”
His witch-hunting shift, she told herself. Emphasis on the witch-hunting.
When his thumb stroked the line of her jaw, Rune had to bite down on a whimper. It was almost as if he were a weapon specifically designed to compromise her.
“Hunting anyone in particular?” she asked.
“Perhaps.” His breath was hot on her neck.
“Who?”
He paused. “Why do you want to know?”
Rune swallowed. Was that suspicion in his voice, or flirtation?
Danger, danger, said her brain.
“What do you do with them, when you—”
Taking her chin gently in his fingers, Gideon turned her face toward his. His eyes were intense, his breathing shallow and uneven.
“Rune,” he said, pupils dilating. He looked hungry suddenly. Like a man who hadn’t eaten in years. “Less talking.”
He’s going to kiss me, she realized.
And the scariest thing was, Rune wanted him to. More than she wanted information, more than she wanted to rescue Seraphine … in this moment, she wanted to know how his mouth would feel against hers. If it would be soft or rough. If it would be as tender as his fingers, or if he’d give in to that ravenous hunger, taking his fill of her.
It shocked her out of her stupor.
Rune was no longer the mimic spider, luring her victim into a trap. She was inside her own trap … about to be devoured by her prey.
Desperate to extricate herself, Rune remembered the cup still in her hands.
Before Gideon completely overwhelmed her, she dumped her wine down the front of his suit.
TWELVE
RUNE
GIDEON SHOT LIKE LIGHTNING from the sofa. On his feet, he stumbled away from Rune, staring down at the dark stain seeping through his rare and expensive jacket.