Thorin readjusted his position on the couch, sitting up straighter and hardening his face. “Tell me everything. From the beginning.”
I poured another glass of wine and took a huge gulp. Then I turned to Thorin and said, “Once upon a time, there was a girl named Solina Mundy. She had had a twin brother named Chapman Mundy. He used to work for you.”
I talked late into the evening, stalled by a million interruptions—Thorin asking questions or requesting more details. I switched from wine to water once the alcohol and the warmth of the fire softened my focus. At some point, I pillowed my head on my hands and leaned against the sofa cushion next to Thorin’s leg. At some point, his hand found its way to my hair, his fingers combing through the loose strands—so intimate and so unlike him. I said nothing, for fear he might take his hand away.
“I can hardly believe it,” Thorin said after I finished recounting my story. “It all sounds too fantastic.”
I didn’t move an inch, not daring to break our connection. “You’re a god. Everything about your existence is fantastic.”
“We shouldn’t stay here much longer,” he said in non sequitur. “The location is compromised. Too many people know where to find you.”
I waved toward the door. “Where should I go?”
“Where do I live, now?”
I raised my head up at that, and Thorin’s hand slipped away. “You don’t remember that either?”
Thorin’s eyes rolled up to the ceiling as he struggled with his memory. “I remember a place on a mountaintop. Lots of snow. I’m not sure how old the memory is. Does it sound familiar to you?”
“I was told such things were sacred to your kind, and you don’t give their locations away easily. I’ve never been to your home.”
“Never?”
“For all we’ve been through together, we barely know each other. Well, I barely know you, anyway. Not the personal stuff. But I trust you. You’ve risked your life for me. You’ve killed my enemies.”
“That’s a lot.” Thorin slid his fingertips under my chin and urged me to look up at him. “Trust is what’s most important.”
“I have trusted you with my life almost from the first day I met you, but I’ve never trusted you with much more than that.”
“Oh?” His brows arched in question. “Nothing in your story suggested I’ve been cavalier with your feelings.”
“You’ve never had a chance to.”
Thorin chuckled at my petulance. “Despite everything you’ve told me, everything you’ve been through, you chose to stay here, alone, with me. That tells me all I need to know.”
Thorin let me talk him into taking one of the bedrooms and moving from the confines of the sofa. He tested his weight on the mattress, and the springs groaned in protest.
“Maybe we should go to your store first.” I leaned against the doorjamb. “Going somewhere familiar might jog your memories.”
Thorin leaned over and unlaced his boots. “I have a store?”
I huffed. “What do you remember?”
Thorin kicked off one boot and went to work on the other. “When Baldur first found me up on the mountain, I couldn’t even remember my name, but after he started talking, a lot of old memories came back.” He kicked off the second boot, stood, and peeled off layers, starting with a bulky wool sweater.
“I regret that I don’t remember your brother,” he said, the words muffled by his thermal shirt as he pulled it over his head. “I especially regret not remembering you. But our kind heal quickly. In the morning, I would be surprised if I haven’t mostly recovered.”
Thorin shed layers down to a thin undershirt that hugged every line, every curve, plane and valley. That too came off, leaving him bare chested and me dry throated. It went against the laws of everything good and holy for a man to look that fine. I turned away.
“This place has some sort of bathing accommodations, correct?”
“Y-yup, um, down the hall.” I pointed dumbly, still looking anywhere but at him. “There’s, uh, there’s a-an extra towel or two on the shelf in the bathroom. You can use my soap and stuff.”
The floor creaked as Thorin stepped closer, pausing in the doorway beside me. His scent filled the space between us. I did not inhale and savor it. I swear I didn’t.
“Thank you,” he said, his words low and gruff.
I swallowed. “No problem. Least I could do since you saved my life and all.”
Thorin didn’t move or say anything. I sensed he wanted me to look at him, to see him rooted in place so close to my side… Too close, too warm. I swallowed again, steeled my nerves, and pried my eyes from the ceiling. Once he had my full attention, Thorin let a charming, devilish smile curl at the corner of his lips. “Good night, Miss Mundy.”
“You call me Sunshine.” The words came out raspy.
“Do I?”
I nodded.
Thorin smoothed a loose hair from my cheek and tucked it behind my ear. Every function in my body stuttered to a halt. “Well, good night then, Sunshine.”
Thorin slid past me, and his touch warmed me from head to toe. It lit fires in my cheeks, and champagne bubbles fizzed in my veins. He padded down the hallway into the bathroom, and the moment the door shut behind him, I broke from my daze and fled down the hallway back to the safety of my room.
What’s going on with him? I wondered as I slid under the quilts on my bed. A little amnesia and all his personal constraints disappear?
I turned off the lamp on my bedside table and stared up into the darkness. No problem. I have more than enough inhibitions to cover us both.
Chapter Thirty
Whether I meant it to or not, my hearing tuned in to every creak and groan of the house, every noise Thorin made—the abrupt cessation of running water, the rattle of shower curtain rings sliding across the metal rod, something clattering in the sink. A moment later, the bathroom door creaked open, and heavy footsteps crept down the hallway. His bed squeaked as it accepted his weight. I imagined I could hear his breathing, but it was only the wind.
