Moonflower

Chapter 8: The Loss of More than Just Sight

"Please," she whispered. But then she stopped.

He was growing weary of squatting. He sat down next to her. He longed to pull her into his arms. But he still didn't touch her. Now he stared quizzically at her. Please...what?

"What?" he asked in a rough whisper.

Why was she having this effect on him? It wasn't like he hadn't been surrounded by women recently with the efforts his advisors were making to marry him off.

"Please forget you ever met me." Her voice was just a breath that slipped into his ears, but her words were a knife she'd just plunged into his heart.

"I cannot," he murmured as he bent nearer her. "You haunt my dreams."

She glanced up at him then. Once again, they were so close. Did she realize it?

In the next moment she did, for his smooth lips found her soft cheek and saluted it gently. She shivered under their tender touch. His kiss sent an ache of such pure desire rocketing through her core that she gasped. And a tear slid down her cheek.

"I cannot, Your Royal Highness."

"Don't," he forced out through gritted teeth.

"Don't what?"

"Don't call me that. Call me Yoongi."

Her stomach shifted violently. Her heart was racing. The king was asking her to call him by his given name. The one his parents had chosen for him. Or more likely, the one his grandfather had picked out.

What did it mean? Did this uncommon permission - coupled with his kiss - imply that he intended to invite her into his bed? She shook her head even as her body trembled at his touch. For he had just lifted one slender finger to run it down her cheek. And it was sending volts of electricity into her skin. She wanted to throw herself into his arms. And kiss those sweet lips.

"You cannot what, Moonflower?" he queried distractedly as his finger traced a pattern along that cheek.

She was frozen. She couldn't answer his question. For if she mistook his intent, he would laugh at her. But if she'd guessed his motives correctly...

He watched, mesmerized, as she closed those unusual eyes. She sat perfectly still as his finger drew circles on her skin. She was facing him now. Her head was tilted slightly upward, and the light of the moon was bouncing off her face. As was the burning flame of the torch he had planted into the ground a few feet away.

His eyes slid along the fascinating planes of her lovely face. He found himself wanting to kiss every square inch of it. She seemed to be inviting him with her posture...

So he leaned closer, and his lips replaced his finger on her skin. He brushed those soft lips across her cheek repeatedly and in a multitude of locations. She sighed. Then she began to shake. He saw it. He was alarmed by it. It wasn't a tiny tremor. She was shaking like a leaf.

He couldn't take it. He reached out and drew her towards him. Until he'd pulled her into his lap again. Then he wrapped himself around her.

"It's all right," he declared softly. "I swear I won't hurt you."

"I can't," she whispered.

"You can't what?"

"Give you what you want."

But she was very afraid now that she could, actually. For his touch was doing things to her that she hadn't anticipated. When, exactly, had someone touched her last? With the exception of this man in this place last night, she could not remember a year she'd been touched, held, since her parents had died. Could it really have been that long?