“What?” She stepped closer, close enough that he could see the gold flecks in her blue eyes. “What were you going to say?”
Owen shook his head, unable to voice the fear that had driven every one of his decisions since Evie’s arrival.
“I thought I could keep my distance,” he said instead. “Let you build your own life with Evie while I handle the threats from outside.”
“And now?”
“Now I realize I was a fool.” He reached up to touch her face. His fingers trembled slightly against her cheek. “Now I understand that distance doesn’t protect anything. It just leaves the people you care about vulnerable to danger.”
“Owen—”
He couldn’t find words for everything he wanted to say. Couldn’t explain the terror and hope warring in his chest, or the way she made him want things he’d spent years convincing himself to be impossible.
So instead, he kissed her.
It differed entirely from their desperate encounter in Morrison’s library. This kiss was slower, deeper, with less hunger and more revelation. It felt as if with every press of his mouth against hers, he confessed something neither of them dared to say aloud.
She melted into him immediately. A soft sound escaped her throat as her hands fisted in the lapels of his coat. It was like she feared he might pull away.
But Owen had no intention of pulling away. Not tonight. Perhaps not ever.
His hands skimmed along her waist, and he found the fastenings of her gown with surprisingly steady fingers. Though inside, he was anything but.
Her lips moved against his own with sweet, searching urgency. Her small sighs unraveled him. The blue silk slipped from her shoulders and slid down her body like water, pooling around her feet in a soft sigh.
She stood before him in only her chemise and corset—angelic and wicked all at once.
He paused to take her in. The delicate cotton clung to her curves, translucent in the lamplight, teasing more than it concealed. His fingers itched to touch her, to worship her.
“Are you certain?” he asked against the tender skin at her throat. His voice was barely above a whisper, even as his hands found the laces of her corset.
“I’ve never been more certain of anything.” Her fingers found the buttons of his waistcoat. Their movements were clumsy with eagerness. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
Her corset joined her gown on the floor, and her thin chemise followed with reverent care. She stood bare before him, and the sight stole his breath. Then, he lifted her into his arms, unable to resist, and she gasped softly, as she pressed eager, open-mouthed kisses to his throat that made his knees tremble.
He carried her to his chambers with his heart pounding and laid her carefully on the bed. Moonlight filtered through the window, casting her skin in silver and shadow. She looked like temptation incarnate—all flushed, luminous, and real. Every fantasy he’d tried to banish before was now brought to vivid, exquisite life.
When he joined her, skin to skin, heat to heat, it was almost too much.
He cupped her face in both hands reverently, as if she might vanish. His thumbs stroked her cheeks as he memorized the way she looked with her hair mussed, her eyes luminous, and her lips kiss-bruised and parted in anticipation.
“You undo me,” he whispered while brushing his lips over hers.
She leaned into the kiss and her breath was soft against his jaw. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she admitted. “But I want this. I want you.”
His heart twisted. The honesty in her voice, the openness in her eyes—it shook him to his core.
“You don’t have to know,” he murmured while kissing the hollow at the base of her throat slowly and languidly. “You only have to feel.”
He took his time exploring her with his hands, lips, and tongue. Each touch was a question, each kiss a promise. His palms skimmed her ribcage but paused just beneath her breasts as if asking for permission.
Her breath hitched, but she arched into his touch. That was answer enough.
He kissed down her throat and over the curve of her shoulders as well as the swell of her breasts. She made a sound then, soft and startled, that tugged at something deep inside him. Her hands found his shoulders, his arms, tentative at first, then bolder, mapping the shape of him with delicate fingers that made his pulse race.
Her skin was velvet beneath his hands. She was warm, alive, and trusting. And she wanted him—him.Not a title. Not a role. Onlyhim.
When he moved to hover above her, bracing his weight on his forearms, their eyes met. Her lips parted. Her breath came in shallow gasps and her cheeks flushed a delicate pink. But her gaze held no fear. Only trust.
