The way Hawthorne smiled at her grandfather, so full of admiration and respect, made Emeline’s pulse kick. She gripped the knob of the door until her knuckles hurt. The boys she’d brought home in the past never treated Pa like this—like someone they wanted to be friends with. Like someone worthy of the utmost respect.
With her heart pounding in her ears, she shut the door before they saw her, then leaned her back against it, her entire body crackling and alert as she listened to Pa walk him out.
Soon, she heard Hawthorne’s footsteps echo in the hall. Emeline tightened the sash of her silk robe and went after him.
Outside her rooms, she saw him several paces down the candlelit corridor, the small flames illuminating his dark form.
“Hawthorne, wait …”
His footsteps slowed.
Still dripping from her bath, her wet feet padded against the cold marble. As he turned, she stopped abruptly and slipped. Hawthorne reached for her elbow, steadying her.
He wore a dark green sweater tonight, the color complementing his skin tone. Like spruce trees in late autumn.
“Emeline. What are—”
His gaze fell instantly to her bruised throat. Storm clouds moved swiftly in and a sharp line appeared between his brows as he studied the marks on her skin. Stepping towards her, he lifted his hand, silently asking permission.
She gave it, baring her throat to him. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”
His fingers traced her bruises, achingly tender as they glided down her neck. Emeline’s heart beat strangely fast beneath his touch.
“Do you have to be so reckless?” It sounded like more of a plea than a question.
“Maybe it’s in my nature.”
He moved closer, bringing his fire-like warmth with him. “Maybe so.” He cupped the back of her neck with his palm, fingers sliding through the small hairs there as he raised her chin with his thumb, continuing to examine her. “You should be far away from here, Emeline Lark. Somewhere safe.”
“Hmm,” she said in vague agreement. When his thumb stroked softly along her jaw, her blood sparked, and she whimpered. Mistaking the sound, he withdrew his hands and stepped back.
Before he could turn and leave, she reached for his forearm. “Wait. I came to thank you.”
His brow knit. “If this is about the letter …”
She shook her head no, remembering the sight of him before the fire, enjoying Pa’s company. “You treat my grandfather like he’s important.”
Silence descended between them.
His voice went soft and careful. “Heisimportant.”
Emeline closed her eyes at those words, afraid he’d see what they did to her.
She shouldn’t like this man. Shouldn’t like the sound of his stubborn voice, or the startling gentleness of his touch, or the heady strength of his presence. Hawthorne Fell was not for her. He did the Wood King’s bidding. He was from another world.
He was definitely not boyfriend material.
And Emeline was with Joel. Sort of.
Most important: this was a nightmare she was getting outof very soon. As soon as she saved Pa, Emeline would leave this behind and return to her regular life.
Hawthorne’s gaze swept slowly over her. Lingering on her wet hair, trailing across her collarbone, then skimming downwards to take in the sheer silk robe clinging to her curves, revealing too much.
Or, from the look flaring in his eyes, revealing exactly enough.
A startling warmth bloomed in her belly, followed by a strange sweetness in her throat. Like honey and flowers.
Emeline’s senses heightened. She was suddenly fully aware of his pine-forest scent infusing the air, of just how close he stood to her.
