Thief of Light by Denise Rossetti Page B

and unfolded the linen covering himself. A flick of his fingers and a cascade of shimmering jade silk flowed over her lap.
    Oh. Oh .
    “It’s a ring shawl,” he murmured. “I chose the color for your eyes.”
    Unable to resist, Prue lifted the fabric to her cheek, the weave so fine the whole length of it could be threaded through a woman’s ring. It smelled like a cool, soft kiss with a strange, spicy scent, citrus mixed with something musky.
    She’d never had anything so lovely, presented so charmingly. Never would have again . To her fury, tears prickled behind her eyes. Blindly, Prue shoved two handfuls of fabric toward him. “No,” she said. “I can’t.”
    She heard him take a deliberate breath, as if he were about to launch into song.
    “ Prue .” Only her name, but Erik’s voice dropped an octave, thrilling through every nerve, the impact like the echo of distant thunder, making her tremble right down to the marrow of her bones.
    “Yes?” she whispered through dry lips.
    “ You must have a mirror . Tell me where it is. ”
    She was drowning in the blue of those ocean eyes, just as she had the first time she’d met him. Prue struggled, but in the end, it was simpler to tell him what he wished to know.
    “Bedchamber.”
    “ Put the shawl on and go see how pretty you look. ” Erik bent and pressed his lips to her cheek, right over the dimple.
    Prue’s head whirled, her senses overwhelmed by the warm, masculine scent of his body, starched linen and a hint of leather.
    Shakily, she rose, Erik standing so close their arms brushed. He steadied her, then stepped back. “Go on,” he murmured.
    Sister, what could it hurt? It was the least she could do, after all. Her brow furrowed, Prue walked the few steps into the adjoining bedchamber, her thoughts muzzy and confused. Vaguely, she wondered if she’d overeaten.
    Shivering, she shook out the shawl and draped it over her shoulders, stealing a moment to feel the fineness of the fabric between finger and thumb. When she looked up, her mouth dropped open in a soundless exclamation. Sister save her, it was true. The deep, vibrant jade made her eyes glitter like best-quality aquamarines, the ones the nobleladies of Caracole prized so highly. Her skin glowed, honey and roses, and her hair gleamed a rich, glossy brown.
    Embroidered the entire length of the shawl was a stylized school of seelies gamboling among the waves beneath the silvery light of the Sister’s sickle. Wonderingly, Prue rubbed a forefinger over the indigo silk the unknown artist had used for their pelts. As a child, she’d loved the old tales, and her favorites had always been the ones about seelies, with their bulgy eyes and naïve wisdom. “Silly as a seelie” went the saying, but in the stories, the seelie was the only character who saw what was truly just and right.
    Thank the Sister her head was clearing. Gods, he was clever! He couldn’t have made a more perfect choice. Unable to bear the sight of her reflection a moment longer, Prue spun around to face him. She tilted her chin. “I still can’t accept it. Now what?”
    Erik Thorensen gazed down at her, as calm as ever. “Welcome back, Prue,” he said. Which was decidedly odd, even on this strangest of days.
    He took a light, two-handed grip of the shawl around her shoulders and gave it a little shake, pulling her slightly closer. “Do you like my gift, Prue?” The unsettling twinkle had returned to his gaze.
    A hot chill ran straight up Prue’s spine and down again. She moistened her lips. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “How could I not?” When she shrugged, moving within the constraint of the jade silk held taut by his effortless strength, she had the mad urge to rear back against it, to fight. He’d pull her right into his broad chest, his hard thighs. In every fiber of her being, she knew it. And she wouldn’t have to think anymore.
    Gods, she was losing her mind!
    But instead, he turned her swiftly to face the