Surely he would go to the pits of the Fade for what he was doing. He would drown in vomit or some such—who came up with this stuff?—and he would regret this kiss…
No. He would never regret this. She was soft, yielding, sweet. She smelled of flowers, and she tasted of rain and fields and daylight. He remembered them from his youth.
Her blue eyes stared into his when he pulled away, looking down at her.
"I'm sorry," he said softly. Then he kissed her again. He had to show her how sorry he was that he'd kissed her…
He teased and tasted and felt her straining against his body. She wanted him as he wanted her!
"Maker preserve us, it's not right," he groaned, tearing himself from her lips only with an effort.
He was so glad he hadn't been wearing his gauntlets when she came in this time. He'd been taking them off in the evenings, but not during the day. This time he had, in preparation for the ledger taking.
Now he could run his fingers through her hair and touch her face.
"If we weren't… what we are… I would grab you up and run away," he told her hoarsely, his voice deepened by his desire and his longing.
A tear slipped from her eye, and his heart twisted and jerked inside him, skipping a beat.
"No, no, don't cry," he begged her. "I don't think I can bear to see you cry!"
He wiped the tear away. "Miranne, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"
Her finger silenced him, and his head was pulled down to hers. It was a bold move for any woman, he thought. But especially so for his Miranne.
"I love you," he told her. "I can't remember when I fell for you, it's been so long."
"I l-lo-l-love you, too," she managed, managing to look even more shy than usual.
"Oh, Maker," he agonized. "It's not right. It's just not right. The Tower, the isolation… it's inhumane!"
The loneliness. The loneliness was a cruel punishment for being a mage—or a Templar.