But when I opened my eyes and turned to face her, the determination and raw honesty in her gaze made me wonder if three minutes might be asking too much.
She was close enough now that I could see the rapid flutter of her pulse at her throat and count the freckles scattered across her nose like stars. Her lips were slightly parted, and Iremembered how they'd felt against my skin that night she'd hugged me: soft, warm, and perfect.
"This is dangerous," I said quietly, but didn't step back. Couldn't step back.
"I know." Her voice was barely a whisper. "I don't care anymore."
She reached up, her fingers barely grazing my jaw, and the touch sent electricity through my entire system. Her skin was silk against mine, and I had to clench my fists to keep from pulling her against me.
"I can't stop thinking about last night," she admitted, her thumb tracing along my jawline. "About what you said. What I said."
"Evangeline—"
"Do you regret it?" she asked, her eyes searching mine. "Walking away from me?"
The honest answer would destroy us both. But looking into her eyes, seeing the vulnerability there, I couldn't lie.
"Every second since," I said roughly.
Her breath caught, and we stood there for a moment, the truth hanging between us like a live wire. Then she moved closer, eliminating the last inch of space between us, her body almost touching mine.
"Then don't walk away again," she whispered.
The words were barely audible, but they hit me like a sledgehammer. My hands moved of their own accord, one sliding around her waist, the other cupping her face. She was warm, soft, and everything I'd dreamed about during the long, sleepless nights since I'd first met her.
"This…this is madness," I said, even as my thumb traced the line of her cheekbone.
"Then let's be mad," she replied, rising up on her toes, bringing her lips dangerously close to mine.
For one perfect, terrible moment, I almost gave in. I nearly threw away my career, principles, and everything else, just to taste her mouth and claim what my body had been craving for months.
But as her lips nearly touched mine, reality crashed back. In three days, I'd be gone. In three days, she'd be left with Roger Halliwell and whatever consequences came from this moment of madness.
"I can't," I said, the words tearing from my throat. But even as I said it, I didn't let her go. Couldn't let her go.
"Why?" The word was broken, desperate.
"Because when I leave," I said, my forehead resting against hers, "I won't be able to return. And you deserve someone who can stay."
Tears gathered in her eyes, and the sight of them nearly brought me to my knees. "What if I don't want someone who can stay? What if I just want you?"
The question hung between us like a challenge, a promise, everything I'd ever wanted and could never have.
Three days had never felt like such an eternity.
Chapter Nineteen
Evangeline
Icouldn't breathe.
The Christmas state dinner stretched interminably—smiling diplomats, clinking glasses, my mother's subtle nudges whenever I failed to respond appropriately to some dignitary's question. All I could think about was James, standing rigid against the wall, watching everyone but never meeting my eyes.
Three days. That's all we had left before he would vanish from my life forever.
I sipped my champagne, barely tasting it as I nodded at something the Spanish ambassador was saying. My gaze drifted again to the corner where James had been standing, but he was gone. Something twisted in my stomach at the thought of losing him in just three days—losing the only man who saw me as a person to be protected rather than a prize to be won.
"Evangeline?" My mother's voice pulled me back to the present. "The ambassador asked you a question."
