Merlina was in bed, but her body hadn't moved on, covers tangled around her legs as she tossed again, restless and burning.
Beneath the sheets felt warm and too heavy. Her skin still craved his touch, every nerve lit with memory. She pressed her thighs together and groaned into her pillow.
God, what was wrong with her?
She hadn't even tried to stop it. Not once. It had been his voice, his restraint, his maddening calm that ended it. Not her.
She turned over again, reaching instinctively for the other side of the bed. Empty. Still cold. It didn't even look slept in.
That's right—he had only flown in today. He probably hadn't even gotten a chance to lay on the bed. She bit her lip, breath shallow.
How the hell had she gone from annoyed to desperate in one evening?
She buried her face in the pillow again. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his lips against hers, the way he looked at her like she was already his.
