“Thank you.” She rose on her toes, and his mind went blank.
Soft lips brushed his cheek in a brief warm contact. The kiss couldn’t have lasted two seconds, but it seared through him like lightning, shorting out every carefully constructed defense. Hyde roared in triumph and it took every ounce of control he had not to turn his head and capture her mouth, to take the kiss she’d offered and make it his own.
Before he could move, she settled back on her heels, cheeks pink, eyes bright.
“For helping with the groceries,” she explained, as if she hadn’t just shattered his world. “And for the concern.”
He couldn’t speak. He just stood there, the phantom feel of her lips burning on his skin.
“Well.” She gave a little wave, looking as flustered as he felt. “I should get back. Lots of history to sort.”
She turned and walked away, her hips swaying gently in a way that made his mouth go dry. He watched until she disappeared inside Town Hall, his body still thrumming with unspent energy and a fierce, desperate longing. He finally remembered to close her trunk, moving with extraordinary care in case his strength damaged the small vehicle.
One hand rose automatically to touch his cheek where her lips had been. Hyde churned beneath the surface, delighted by the gentle contact but wanting more, wanting everything.
What just happened?
“Well, well. Someone’s got it bad.”
The impish voice cut through his abstraction and he spun around to find Flora grinning up at him. She wore a hot pink tracksuit today with the sloganStirring the Potwritten beneath a witch’s cauldron made of black sequins. Her white curls caught the afternoon light like a halo, which was deeply ironic considering her couldn’t imagine anyone less angelic.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, and she rolled her eyes.
“Oh, please. Then why are you standing here looking like someone hit you with a brick? A very pretty, pregnant brick.”
“She’s a patient,” he said stiffly.
“Of course she is. And are you attending to her… needs? All of them?” Flora waggled her eyebrows at him.
He bit back a growl as the thought of Chloe’sneeds—specifically the ones that involved him, a bed, and no clothing—sent another jolt through him. “My relationship with Miss Bennington is strictly professional.”
“If you say so.” Flora sighed, her face turning unusually serious for a moment. “Listen to me, Victor. No one can be in control all the time. Sometimes you need to let go a little.”
His head snapped up. “That’s exactly what Idon’tneed.”
“Your father really did a number on you, didn’t he? But his problem wasn’t that he lost control. It was that he had no one to ground him. You have to trust someone eventually,” she said softly. “And I think the universe just handed you that someone.”
‘What if I hurt her?” The question emerged before he could stop it, and she shook her head.
“Hyde doesn’t want to hurt her. He wants to wrap her in bubble wrap and growl at anyone who looks at her sideways. That’s not dangerous. That’s protective. There is a difference.”
He wanted to argue with her. He wanted to list all the reasons he needed to stay away from Chloe Bennington and her warm brown eyes and her fearless smile, but Hyde had gone quiet, listening. And some part of him—the part that had felt right for the first time in years when Chloe’s lips brushed his cheek—wanted to believe her.
Then, as if the moment of seriousness had never happened, Flora fluffed her curls and cackled merrily. “Now, I’d love to stay and chat, but Gladys and I are having a bake-off for the HarvestFestival, and my gingerbread-men with licorice-whip bondage gear are not going to decorate themselves.”
Licorice-whip bondage gear?
She patted his arm and sauntered off, her pink tracksuit glowing in the afternoon light, and he stared after her, his mind still reeling from her words.
Allow himself to lose control? No. Never.
But he stood there a moment longer, his cheek still tingling where Chloe had kissed it and Hyde churning restlessly beneath his skin.
Go to her,Hyde urged.Alone. Follow. Protect.
“No.” He forced his feet to move in the opposite direction, towards his house instead. “We can’t.”
Why?
