Her skin was so soft and warm, and his breath stopped.
“I’m asking you to be brave enough to try,” she whispered.
His hand cradled her delicate face. His thumb traced her cheekbone of its own accord, and he felt the tremor in his fingers—Hyde’s strength barely leashed.
“You’re going to undo me,” he whispered.
“Good.” She turned her face into his palm, pressing a kiss to his skin that shot through him like lightning. “Maybe you need undoing.”
She rose on her toes and kissed him. It wasn’t the desperate, hungry kiss of the other night, but something softer, more certain. Her lips moved over his with gentle persistence, a question and an answer in the same breath. His other hand came up to cup the back of her head, his fingers tangling in the soft silk of her hair.
Hyde roared triumphantly, and his control shattered. He kissed her back, careful despite the desperation clawing through his chest. His other arm came around her waist—mindful of her baby bump, holding her steady without crushing her close. She made a soft sound against his mouth and his whole world narrowed to that single point of contact.
She tasted like chamomile tea and sweetness, and when her hands came up to grip his shoulders, he felt the rightness of it down to his bones. Hyde was humming with contentment, a deep, possessive purr that vibrated through his entire being.This is right. This is ours.
For once, he couldn’t argue. When he deepened the kiss, she met him eagerly, her mouth opening under his. He poured everything into the kiss—all the lonely years and the desperate longing and the terrifying hope she’d awakened in him.
Her fingers tightened on his shoulders. One hand slid up to cup the back of his neck, and the touch sent heat racing down his spine. He gently pulled her closer until her soft curves pressed against him. The baby bump nestled between them, a reminder of everything fragile and worth protecting.
Hyde pushed closer to the surface and he felt his hands growing larger, stronger, but she didn’t pull away, only melted closer against him. He broke the kiss to trail his lips along her jaw, tasting her skin, and breathing her in. Her pulse fluttered under his mouth and Hyde wanted to mark it, to claim her in a way that would tell the world she was under his protection.
Mine, Hyde growled.
Ours, he corrected, but the distinction felt meaningless because for the first time in his life, both sides wanted exactly the same thing.
Her head tilted back, giving him access to her throat, and he pressed open-mouthed kisses along the column of her neck, gentle despite the need burning through him. She gasped, her fingers digging into his shoulders, and the sound sent his control spiraling further. He captured her mouth again, and this kiss was less careful, more desperate. His tongue swept against hers and she responded eagerly, matching his intensity.
His hand—larger now, Hyde’s influence unmistakable—swept up to cup her breast, the soft weight fitting perfectly into his palm. He felt the peak tighten through the thin layers of her sweater and bra, and his thumb brushed over it, circling slowly. She made a soft, broken sound against his mouth and arched into his touch, silently demanding more.
He could feel the difference between human and Hyde, the extra strength that made him painfully aware of how breakable she was. But she arched into him, pressing closer, and whispered against his lips, “Don’t stop.”
The phone rang, and the shrill sound cut through the haze of need and desire like a knife. He froze, his whole body going rigid.The phone rang again, and reality came crashing back. He was standing in his office with Chloe pressed against him, his eyes blazing green, his hands transformed, and his control hanging by a thread. Hyde was right there, closer to the surface than he’d been in years.
The phone rang a third time.
“I have to—” His voice came out rough, barely human. “You have to go.”
“Victor—”
“Now.” He forced himself to step back, to drop his hands even though everything in him screamed to keep holding her. “Please.”
Confusion and hurt flashed across her face, but she must have seen something in his expression that convinced her because she grabbed her bag and headed for the door.
The phone rang a fourth time.
He watched her go, his fists clenched, fighting the urge to follow her and finish what they’d started. The door closed behind her, and he lunged for the phone, needing something—anything—to ground him.
“Yes?” The word came out as a growl.
“Dr. Jackson? This is Mabel Anderson. I’m so sorry to bother you, but my husband—he’s having chest pains and shortness of breath. I didn’t know who else to call.”
The words penetrated the lingering fog of need and desire, and he forced himself to focus, to think like a physician instead of aman whose control was crumbling. “How severe? On a scale of one to ten?”
“He says six, but I think he’s lying. Maybe eight.”
“Call an ambulance. I’ll meet you at the clinic in five minutes.”
“Thank you. Thank you so much.”
