#AMWRITING, #NOVEL, #MSWL, #ROMANTICFANTASY, #DARKFANTASY, #PARANORMALFANTASY
“Why do you insist on running from me?”
“Why do you insist on chasing after?” She heard the petulance in her voice and would have blushed at the sound if she were not so well trained to hold her emotions in check.
Though she would not admit it, she enjoyed the bickering between them, the spirit he displayed. Pampered he may be, but there was a strength to him that reminded her of her people, called out to her as kin. And she could not and would not call him kin, no matter the desire swirling within her, reflected in his gaze. “I do not like you, prince. We have had our fun these past nights. Let it be enough between us.”
“Never.” He reached for her, pulling her close to him, bending his head to her own though his lips did not touch hers. They never touched hers, though she did not doubt he wanted to. “Never enough between us; you feel it too. I know you do.”
No man’s breath should smell so fresh, not after a night of champagne and wine and sweets and a jaunt through the woods. He should smell of horse and sweat and look put upon, not as though he were just now remade for the day. She must look a disgrace compared to him, her russet hair a mess around her shoulders, dress stained from her tumble from her horse.
She did not care for customs or norms, finding more comfort in breeches than the tulle of a skirt, and yet for him she had found a gown and now it was ruined and that was quite fine. She stomped her foot. Perhaps a bit more petulance, simpering condescension might make the male rethink his desire for her. “Foolish boy, I feel nothing for you.” Her finger extended to poke at his chest, push him to her desires, make space between his heat that warmed her through. “You know nothing of me. Three days does not a knowledge grant. We have danced and wined but little else. If there were words spoken between us, I do not recall them.”
“Liar. I was there too, my lady. We shared many words.” He leaned into her finger, forcing her to retreat or bow to his advance, yield to his physicality pressing into her. “I am not blind. I know the expression in your eyes. Why run from me when you know my heart? I have told you—”
Viv Drewa - The Owl Lady 