Her voice, ragged and breathless, stopped him on the temple steps. "Well, I usually have no use for an immortal warrior king who runs from an unarmed woman, yet here we are."

Cededa turned slowly to face her. Imogen had changed positions. Instead of sitting cross-legged, she’d drawn her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Whether for warmth or in defensive reaction to his harsh words, he couldn’t guess. While her eyes reflected her pain, her expression was serene. “You insist I know nothing of mating, of lovemaking, as if it’s a flaw in my character instead of a gap in my experience.” Her chin lifted at a haughty angle, and she stared down her nose at him. “I’m asking you to teach me, Cededa of Tineroth. I’m not asking you to love me.”

He stared into her eyes, seeing desire, wariness, and an emotion that made his shriveled heart skip a beat. Ask me, Imogen. Ask me to love you. I could. You would make it so easy. The words stayed trapped behind his teeth, a plea thought but left unspoken. He returned to the stone, never breaking his gaze with hers. “Yes,” he said simply and held out his hand.

They sped to the palace, Imogen running to keep up with his long strides. Her chamber door cracked against the wall when Cededa threw it open and just as quickly kicked it shut with his foot. He spun Imogen until her back was to him and sliced through her lacings with one quick swipe of the knife he carried at his belt. Bodice and tunic split apart, revealing her long back and the graceful indentation of her spine. Skirt and shift followed, falling to a wet heap at her feet until she stood before him, shivering and gloriously naked.

He resheathed the knife and turned her face him. “Afraid?” he asked, his voice not much more than a growl.

Imogen’s eyes, gray as the rain-washed sky, flashed, and her chin rose in tell-tale challenge. “No. Are you?”

Cededa had never turned away from a thrown gauntlet; he didn’t plan to start now. He shucked his own garb and shoes faster than he’d rid Imogen of hers and yanked her into his embrace, heedless of the fact they were both still wet from the rain. Her skin was cool against his, roughened in some places by goose flesh.

He closed his eyes, lost to the feel of her under his hands. How long ago had he held a woman in his arms? Savored the feel of supple limbs and soft breasts? What madness had seized him in those shadowy years so long ago that he’d willingly traded this touch of paradise for bleak immortality?

Imogen entwined her arms around his neck and tilted her head back. Her dark hair spilled over his hands where they rested just above her buttocks. Those heavy-lidded eyes challenged him, daring him to walk away a third time.

“I’ve no patience to be a teacher, Imogen,” he warned.