Jaenelle closed her eyes and took a few breaths before she looked at him. “I don’t know if it will ever be better than this, but I’m healed, Daemon. Completely healed.”

He stared at her, trying to decipher what she was telling him. His heart pounded hard enough for him to feel the beat against his chest as his fingertips touched her cheek. Fever raged through him, settling between his legs. His mouth watered as he brushed a finger over her lips. He wanted his tongue there, slicking her mouth until he slipped inside to stroke her tongue. And after that he wanted to stroke . . .

Healed. Completely healed.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

Jaenelle nodded. “I’m completely healed. I have been for weeks now.”

And she hadn’t told him? Or had she tried in some hesitant way and he hadn’t heard because he’d been caged by the memories of her being so frail?

Weeks. She’d been healed for weeks—which is when he’d begun having the erotic dreams, when his hunger for sex had reawakened. His body had known she was ready for him.

“Are you sure?” he whispered. Same words. Different question.

“I’m sure,” she whispered back.

His lips brushed hers, softly, carefully. One hand cupped the back of her head while the other trailed down her spine, urging her to relax against him. As he deepened the kiss, he savored the feel of his tongue caressing hers.

The taste of her. The smell of her. The feel . . .

He eased back in order to brush his lips over her cheek. “You’re wearing too many clothes,” he whispered. The tip of his tongue traced the curve of her ear, making her shiver. “They’re lovely clothes, but they are very much in the way right now.”

“We need . . . to talk,” Jaenelle gasped as he licked the pulse in her neck.

“We will,” he promised, drifting back to her mouth to give her a long, sinking kiss. “In an hour . . .” Even through layers of clothing, her nipple hardened as he rubbed his thumb over it. “... or two.”

Then she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed against him, changing his desire into something close to desperation. “Tomorrow,” he said, his voice part snarl, part groan. “We’ll talk about anything you want tomorrow.”

Not giving her time to disagree, he picked her up and headed out of the sitting room, maintaining enough control to use Craft to simply open the door rather than rip it off the hinges. As he walked into the entrance hall, he gave his startled butler, Helton, a searing look. “The Lady and I are not at home. To anyone. Is that clear?”

“That is very clear, Prince,” Helton replied. “Shall I inform the cook that you will be dining upstairs this evening?”

“I’ll let you know when to send up a tray,” Daemon replied, taking the stairs two at a time.