A Bride for the Lost King by Maisey Yates

Author:Maisey Yates
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2021-05-11T14:44:14+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

AGNES DIDN’T KNOW how to answer that question. Nor did she know what to do with... All of this. For she had never sat and had a conversation with Lazarus as though they were... As though they were friends.

“I once dreamed of safety,” she said. “And I found it. I dreamed of always being fed, and you have given me that as well. I’m not certain I know how to dream bigger than that.”

“Come now. The girl that went and ate bread at the Eiffel Tower, she did not only dream of bread. What did you dream of?”

“What all people do, I suppose. Yes, I know a great many people dream of jobs. Work and what they will be when they grow up. But those things shift with time, and change. You might want to be an astronaut when you’re a child because you don’t know how difficult it is to get to the moon. I didn’t dream of those things. I did wonder what it would be like, though, to be loved. Not used. But loved. When I dreamed of someone coming to rescue me, I often thought of my grandparents. The ones I never really got to know. Yes, I often thought of them. I just dreamed of what it could be if I... If I found a safe place with people who might open their arms to me. I dreamed of friends.”

“A lover?” he pressed.

Her skin flushed, and she remembered, all too well, the heat that Lazarus generated in her body. The truth was she had never dreamed about a lover, not before she met him. Men had always represented something rather frightening. Something foreign and potentially dangerous. And then... Then she had dreamed of a man’s touch. Especially when they had begun their training. When he had held her tight and invited her to try to escape him, her whole body had been flushed with heat. And she had not wanted to escape him, not at all, no... She had wanted to lean into him.

She had wanted his hold to change, had wanted his touch to become tender. She... She was so strangely aroused by the man, and then had begun to fall in love with him. Her loyalty had become something different, something deep. But the way that he observed the separation between them had provided safety.

Her hormones had been out of control, he had spent his own with women closer to his age. Women who were not sad teenagers with terrible crushes.

But still, his calloused hands always made her shiver. And sparring exercises became the most erotic experience in her life.

Until the sword fight in his Parisian penthouse. Until he had...

And then in the baths.

Where she had seen his body. Really.

“Of course I should like one,” she said. “I am a warrior, but I am not made of stone. Yes, it has been the easiest thing to devote myself to my training and cast off the idea of having a lover. But... But that is not.

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