“Sleep with you?”
Her gaze holds mine, vulnerable yet determined, as she leads me out of the kitchen and through the house, until we reach the entrance of her bedroom.
“Humor me,” she says, turning the handle behind her and backing into the room.
I willingly follow, our fingers interlaced. When she lets go of my hand to crawl into my bed, it dawns on me that I would go to war for the look in her eyes. No one has ever watched me like she is now, with her heart wide open for attack.
I sheath my sword and let her lead me into her trap. Crawling into bed, I settle beside her, and she snuggles against me.
“Will you promise me something?” she asks, hiking her smooth thigh over my leg and hugging me close.
I’m stiff, my heart pounding out of my chest.
“Maybe,” I croak.
The truth is, I would promise her anything right now. And if she asked me to rip the beating organ from my chest and die a bloody, agonizing death in the process, I would do it in a heartbeat.
“Stay with me,” she begs as she traces my nipple with a soft touch, making my throat jump on a swallow. “I want to wake up next to you, Darian Delacroix.”
Have I forgotten how to breathe? Yes, I have.
“Okay,” I whisper shakily.
She hugs me closer, and within minutes, she’s asleep. Me? I’m still holding my breath, worried I’ll crack open with my next inhale and bleed out onto her silk sheets.
It dawns on me that I’m scared, as I tentatively trace my fingertips over her smooth shoulder. Scared of what might crawl out of the wardrobe along with my memories if I let myself feel.
For years, I’ve entertained nothing less than exerting full control in all areas of my life, yet since Cecilia appeared, my control has seeped through the cracks left in her wake.
She’s an angel, and I’m her tarnished demon. She’s the blinding light to my dark, the only person with the power to break me, and I’m starting to think that maybe—just maybe—I want her to take a sledgehammer to my polished shell and crack it wide open. Maybe I want to give her the power to bring my ghosts to the surface.
Or maybe I’m weak.
Weak for her.
Islowly drift awake when sunlight pours through the gap in the curtains, and warmth covers my back like a soothing blanket. A heavy weight is draped around me, holding me close to a warm, hard chest.
Memories of the previous night coax me to blink my eyes open. I’m in my bedroom.
Shifting onto my back beneath Darian’s heavy arm, I roll my head on the pillow and suck in a breath at how peaceful he looks when he sleeps. Peaceful and boyish.
His lips are slightly parted, and his dark hair stands in all directions. Something about this less-than-perfect version of Darian tugs on my heartstrings.
I slowly roll onto my side and rest my cheek on my palm as I gaze at his handsome face. With my bottom lip trapped between my teeth, I drift my fingers over his cheek, feeling the scrape of his stubble.
If anything, this rugged version of Darian is even more heartbreakingly beautiful. He doesn’t need the crisp shirts, expensive watches, and styled hair to steal my resolve to stayaway from him. No, my undoing is the air of vulnerability behind those moving eyelids and the wisps of hair falling over his brow.
He stirs, so I pause, waiting until his breathing deepens again. A part of me wants him to wake up and cover me with his big body, but another part of me wants to stay in this moment—a moment where he’s not the guarded version of Darian who exists in the daylight, but this softer, boyish man with hopes, dreams, and fears.
I shift closer until my lips hover a hair’s breadth from his and then I peer at him to ensure his eyes are closed before I press my lips to his soft ones.
The moment his mouth brushes up against mine, my heart stutters, fragile and trembling, like a leaf in the wind. How can I feel so much all at once for a man I’ve sworn to hate? When did it happen? I haven’t lived with Darian that long. Yet somehow, he disarmed me the moment I laid eyes on him, and I still recall how his gaze seared a path over my skin as I polished glasses.
A trembling breath escapes me as I kiss his upper lip, then his lower.
If I don’t guard my heart, I’ll fall in love with Darian Delacroix, which would be a very, very bad idea. But maybe I was born with a rebellious heart.
My thoughts evaporate into fine mist when firm but gentle fingers skim my cheek. Darian traces the seam of my lips with his tongue, and a full-body shiver raises the hairs on my bare arms. He takes the opportunity when I gasp to slide his hand around my nape and deepen the kiss, his tongue exploring my mouth, imprisoning my every shaky breath.
