Chapter Seven
“Larkspur, no,” Cadoc said. “We are absolutely not doing that. It’s . . . it’s too . . .”
“Too what?”
Cadoc swallowed. He removed his arm from Larkspur’s shoulders and looked away from her. “It’s too intimate. It’s something lovers do, not . . .” Not you and me.
Larkspur was silent a moment. “Surely no more intimate than what you did to me earlier?”
Memory gave him a glimpse of that gleaming triangle of hair, gave him her scent, her taste. “No, but―”
“It’s a bargain. We’re doing it. And then we’re getting out of here. Right?” That last word wasn’t spoken to him; it was directed at the dead Faerie prince. “Your word on it.”
“My word on it.” There was a gloating, gleeful chuckle in the disembodied voice. “Use your mouth on him, and I shall release you.”
“Once,” Cadoc sa
