I froze, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. The warmth of Rhys's body pressed against mine, his scent—that infuriating, intoxicating pine and winter scent—wrapped around me like a physical force. Damn it. I'd been so close.
"Let me go," I demanded, my voice steadier than I felt.
His arm remained firmly around my waist, holding me against him on the precarious step stool. "Not until you tell me why you're sneaking around my study, Elara."
The way he said my name—soft yet commanding—sent an unwelcome shiver down my spine. I twisted in his grip to face him, immediately regretting it when I found myself inches from those dark eyes that had haunted my dreams for years.
"I said let go," I repeated, pushing against his chest.
Surprisingly, he complied, stepping back just enough that I could descend from the stool. But the book—my book—remained clutched in his hand. His eyes flicked to the cover, narrowing as he read the title.
