“I know all the reasons why this is a bad idea.” He strokes a thumbpad across my cheek. “I know you’re hiding something. I know you don’t trust me. And being in the same bed will complicate everything.”
“Then why?—”
“Because I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you in that coffee shop. Because when I kiss you, you kiss me back like you’re starving. Because despite all your walls, all your secrets, you’re the most real thing I’ve touched in years.”
His honesty steals my breath. I want to tell him the truth—about who I am, what I’m running from, why I can’t give him what he wants. But the words stick in my throat, trapped behind years of lies and survival instincts.
Instead, I reach up and trace the tattoo over his heart. It’s Latin, I realize. Nunquam Cede. Never yield.
“What does this mean to you?” I ask.
His hand covers mine, pressing my palm flat against his chest. I can feel his heartbeat, strong and steady.
“It means I don’t give up on the things that matter.”
The words are a promise. A warning. A declaration all rolled into one.
I look up at him, this man who’s turned my carefully ordered world upside down in the span of a single day. Who makes me want things I can’t have, dream of possibilities that don’t exist for someone like me.
“Now are you ready to go to bed, Allie?”
The question hangs in the air between us, loaded with possibility and promise and the weight of a choice I’m not sure I’m strong enough to make…
Chapter Ten
Lyra
His sensual question hangs in the air between us, loaded with possibility and promise and emotional danger.
My mouth goes dry. Every rational thought in my head screams at me to say no. To walk away. To protect what’s left of my carefully constructed life.
But when I look up at him—this man who makes me feel things I didn’t know I was capable of feeling—the word that escapes is barely a whisper. “Yes.”
His expression goes darker, becomes more intense, as if he’s been waiting for this response.
Without warning, he scoops me up, one arm behind my knees, the other supporting my back. I gasp, instinctively gripping his shoulders as he lifts me effortlessly.
“Stryker—”
“I’ve got you.” His voice is rough velvet against my ear as he carries me toward the bedroom. “Trust me.”
The word lodges in my throat. Trust. Such a simple concept that I’ve never been able to master. What would it be like to have been raised normally, to be able to take people at face value.
He sets me down gently beside the bed, and I’m suddenly aware of everything—the way the lamplight casts shadows across his face, the sound of my own rapid breathing, the weight of the locket against my chest.
“Look at me, Allie.”
How can I not when his voice is so compelling?
I meet his gaze. His gorgeous eyes are storm-dark, and he’s focused entirely on me as if I’m the only thing that matters in the world.
“If you want to stop at any point, you tell me. Understood?”
I nod, my throat too tight to speak.
“Say it.”
“I understand.”
