Before I can fall, Rip’s strong arms go around me, one beneath my knees, the other behind my back, and I’m swept up before I can even lose my center of gravity.
I look up at him with wide eyes. “I slipped.”
A soft laugh ripples out of him, as cool and refreshing as running water over timeworn rocks. “I noticed,” he replies, echoing the same conversation we’ve had before. When it was just the two of us standing beneath a blue mourning moon at the edge of an arctic sea.
Things seemed simpler then.
The spikes on his arms are gone, sunk back into his skin faster than a blink so they didn’t pierce me. I’m incredibly aware of his arms around me, of the way he doesn’t falter as he holds me up, as if he could hold me for eternity and never let go.
Why does that make me want to cry?
“You caught me,” I say, though my voice comes out in more of a whisper, the sound of an unsaid question drifting inside of it.
He tips his chin down, eyes coating me like shade against a scorched day. “I’ll do that anytime you need catching, Goldfinch.”
Now I’m dizzy for an entirely different reason. I peel my gaze away from his, my chest capering like a flock of playful birds spinning together in the sky.
“Shit,” I say, mind catching up as I realize how bad this is. “You shouldn’t touch me.”
The muscles in his arms tighten, but his face goes unreadable as he begins to walk me upstairs. “Because your golden king wouldn’t like it?”
I shake my head. “No, it’s not that, it’s... Look, could you just put me down?”
“And let you fall? No.”
I’m far too flustered now. Even my ribbons are wringing, tugging against the loosely tied bows. Feeling the planes of his chest against my arm and his strong grip on my body brings a sixth sense of awareness. How can I emotionally distance myself when he’s holding me up?
“I could’ve golded you—I mean gilded. I could’ve gilded you,” I stutter, face growing hot.
“You’re sure you’re not drunk?” he says with a teasing grin.
Great Divine, when he looks at me like that, when he flashes that subtle, secretive smile, it transforms his entire face. He’s a smoldering, sexy warrior with transcendental beauty, and I like being in his arms far too much.
I lick my lips, and his eyes flick down to watch, making my stomach flutter. “Not drunk, but I’d really love to be right about now.”
His smile widens, and I find my own lips twitching, corners tilting up like they want to join his for the dance.
“But I could’ve gilded you,” I repeat. “Then you’d be a statue stuck right here on the stairwell, and I don’t think gold’s your color, Commander.”
“I disagree. Gold has quickly become my favorite.”
I gape at him, too dumbstruck to say a damn thing.
My gaping is so effective that my unblinking state of surprise sends my head into another exhausted dizzy spell. I slump further into him. “Ugh.”
Rip adjusts his hold on me, and I have to work not to let my neck fall back. “You’re very floppy.”
I rest my head against his firm, muscled chest. “You’re very hard,” I counter.
A rich, dark laugh slips from his mouth. “You’ve no idea.”
My face instantly flares as he smirks, the creases of his cheeks lifting the glint of his scales and making him look so damn gorgeous that all I can do is stare.
He’s...flirting with me. And based on the giddy feeling in my chest, I can’t even deny that I like it. A lot.
Feeling this forbidden want is a different sort of freedom, like crossing the border of a new land. I instantly find myself wishing that things were different, that we had met under other circumstances. That we didn’t have King Ravinger and Midas and omissions jutting up between us in an impassable terrain...because I think I might’ve liked the trek.
How different would things be if he’d told me the truth about who he was? If I hadn’t felt like he was following in Midas’s footsteps with tricks and manipulations?