His eyes darkened.
Not the gold she knew. Something deeper. Something that swallowed the light whole and left behind nothing but heat and hunger and the kind of want that made the air between them feel like it was burning.
Arin's breath caught in her throat.
She'd said it. Don't stop this time. Three words. Five syllables. And from the way Caldan was looking at her — kneeling at the edge of his own bed, his burned hand still warm on her waist, his jaw tight, his chest rising and falling like he'd been running for miles — she understood that those words had undone something in him that couldn't be put back together.
Good.
She didn't want it put back together.
