Sweat broke out on his palms. Phaedra was giving him an out.
He didn’t want it. Neither could he refuse it.
Christ.Deerhurst couldn’t breathe.
“You understand why this is for the best.” She gave him a regretful smile. “I’ve had more fun with you in the past week than I’ve had the entire season. I hope you’ve had some fun too.”
He ought to be relieved. He was not the knight she thought him to be. If she ever learned the truth about the list, his daughter, the messy details of his past, the danger therein... she would never again look at him the same way she had when she’d called him a knight.
He should leave before that happened. “It’s done, then.”
“Thank you for all you’ve done, Deerhurst. I truly appreciate your help.”
“I have one request, my lady if you would grant it.”
She looked startled. “What is it?”
“One last kiss.”
She blinked. “Deerhurst...”
“To lay our deal to rest,” Deerhurst said. He couldn’t walk away without one last kiss. Refused to walk away without one last kiss.
“We might be caught.”
Deerhurst reached for her hand and dragged her behind the door, pressing her up against the wall. He slammed his hands on either side of her face, locking her in with no chance of escape. If this was to be the end, let it end on the same explosive fireworks with which it had begun.
“Deerhurst, you—”
He cut her off with a kiss, then breathed against her lips. “Say my name.”
“What?”
“One time, just one time, Phaedra, say my name.”
A moment of pause, then a breathless whisper, one he’d only heard in his dreams. “Marcus.”
He claimed her mouth. This time, there was nothing gentle about the kiss. His tongue swept into her warmth with one smooth stroke. All his frustration, his disappointment, and his regret poured into their last kiss.
She didn’t hold back either.
She kissed him back with all the passion he’d come to expect from her. Her hands shoved into his hair like they had done their first night, and she pressed her breasts up against him.
Saints, he was going to miss her touch.
“What if I’m not ready to end it?” he breathed. How was he supposed to walk away from the first woman who made him feel like he was worth a damn? “What if I can’t?”
“We have to.”
We.
As though she couldn’t do it if he didn’t walk away too. She thought him a knight. She thought him strong. He didn’t feel bloody strong at the moment. He felt weak in the knees.
But this wasn’t just about him.
Deerhurst reluctantly broke away from her, his gaze traveling over her face, committing every line, every nuance, every dazed spark to memory.
Nothing had ever felt this hard.
