Leaning forward, she wrapped her arms around his neck, and he pulled her down on the floor to hold her. It felt so good to be back in his arms. Closing her eyes, she concentrated fiercely on soaking every moment of it in.

She told him, “Yes, we can. I can handle everything, as long as you don’t push me away—and Nik, I mean it. You’ve got to fight that instinct, because rejection hurts almost more than anything else in the world, and I won’t put up with it. You’ve got to go all in.”

“I’m all in,” he whispered.

“Oh God, we’re going to fight, aren’t we?” She turned her face into his hair.

“It’s going to be ugly.” He rocked her. “You make me so crazy.”

She laughed unsteadily. “Your autocratic nonsense drives me batty.” She lowered her voice and said gruffly, “I’m going to issue orders now, because it never occurs to me that somebody might have a mind of her own.”

“Shut up.” He sank his fists into her hair. “Shut up.”

She opened her eyes very wide. “See? You just issued an ord—”

Growling, he covered her mouth with his. He told her telepathically, There’s really only one way I know of to shut you up.

Well, sure, she said sarcastically. “OUT LOUD. There’s really only one way to truly, truly shut me up.

He lifted his head. His expression had caught fire. He growled, “Orgasms.”

Caught by surprise, her mouth hung open. She said, “I was about to say, you’d have to knock me out, but your idea sounds much more fun.”

“I think so too.” Standing, he scooped her into his arms and walked with her into the bedroom.

Oh dear Lord, he carried her into the bedroom. It was such a quintessentially Nikolas thing to do, she was nearly beside herself with exasperated glee. She stuck out one leg and regarded with bemusement the sturdy Doc Martens boot at the end of it.

He was never going to learn.

Never.

Chapter Twenty-Two

In the shadowed bedroom, Nikolas set Sophie down. Before her feet touched the floor, he was kissing her, plundering that soft, generous mouth. He yanked the tie out of her hair and pulled the braid out, sinking his fists into the fragrant, curling mass.

It had been such a long, difficult night, he had no patience. Dealing with the needs of his army, talking strategy with Annwyn in bursts as they found time. Looking for Sophie whenever he had a moment until he finally ran into Rowan, who had given him his ring, told him what she had said, and that she had left for Shrewsbury.

The news had been a kick to the gut. She had gone, just gone. No word of explanation. No information about where she was staying.

This is how people die, he thought. You expect them to be there, and then suddenly they aren’t.

Well after midnight, when he felt like he could finally leave, he had taken Gawain’s Harley to go look for her. She didn’t answer her phone. Her stupid solicitor didn’t know a goddamn thing. He had to resort to going from hotel to hotel until finally he recognized the Mini parked in the street.

The experience had scared him and made him angry. Not that he had truly believed she might die. She had been right when she had said to Rowan that it was the perfect time for her to go.

It had scared him and made him angry, because she had left him.

Facing that possibility burned everything else away, and he understood what Braden had been saying. While they collected the bodies of their fallen troops and prepared them to be transported back across the passageway for burial at home, he confronted what his life would be like if Sophie was truly out of his life, and he realized he would have done anything to spend as much time with her as he possibly could.

Pushing the night into the past where it belonged, he focused on the here and now. Sophie stood in front of him, healthy and whole. She spread her hands over his chest, and her touch soothed the last of the rawness away.

Need took control of his actions. He yanked her shirt over her head, and as her arms came free, she scrambled out of her bra. His skin was on fire, and the restriction of his clothes felt intolerable. He tore them off while she wriggled out of the rest of her things.

Then they came together, flesh to flesh, with nothing between them. It felt so necessary and right he paused with his mouth resting on the pulse at the base of her neck, breathing her in, taking her into every darkened, solitary corner in his soul so she could light him up with her presence.

She seemed to understand he needed that moment; as she rubbed his arms, her head tilted back to expose the slender curve of her vulnerable throat.

“I’m still going to try to protect you,” he whispered.

She stroked his hair. “I’m still going to try to protect you too, and I’m never going to sit in a tower and learn how to knit.”

“We have so much war ahead of us.”

“I know, Nik,” she said, gently steady. “I accept all that. I will try to learn how to be the best partner I can be, for you.”

“As I will, for you.” He kissed her while he let his fingers stroke along the underside of her breasts. With the last of his rational thought, he murmured, “We work well together, even when we’re fighting and driving each other insane.”

“We do, don’t we?” She nuzzled him. “We work well in other ways too.”

The fire in his veins took over, and he pulled her onto the bed. Time broke apart as they traversed their own crossover passage, passing from uncertainty, fear, and anger into acceptance, optimism, and passion. Her taste drove him wild. He licked and bit her everywhere, leaving marks, while she twisted and gasped underneath him.