Chapter 11.1

Griff’s amber eyes met mine, and he gazed at me with an intensity that made my insides melt like wax candles. “There’s something about you that I can’t resist,” he said. “And if I let you return to Albion and never see you again, I might regret it for the rest of my life.”

My throat tightened. He was dead, and I’d killed him. I’d even danced on his charred remains. How on earth had he escaped and gotten himself a body? There was no way of asking unless I wanted to arouse suspicion.

“Got anything to say?” He drifted toward me, his brows raised.

“About?”

The air became thick with tension, and the weight of his heated stare pulled my gaze down his naked body. Griff stood before me, his breath quickening, his broad chest heaving.

In the tent’s dim light, every muscle on his torso was more defined. He was a living, breathing, e gy of perfection.

The pulse between my legs pounded so hard that I had to squeeze my thighs together to mu½e the sound. But that only sent a pleasure bursting