My breath catches. I’m fixated, hypnotized by the man I can’t have but can’t resist wanting.
He stopped the elevator. He created a temporary sanctuary. A place where no one can reach us and nothing can come between us. I get lost in his eyes, reveling in being the center of his attention in this one perfect, stolen moment.
In a matter of weeks, he’s changed my perspective sharply. He’s proven that there are good men out there still. That I’m not destined to be alone forever. That while I might be a lot, I won’t be too much for the right person.
That person just can’t be him.
With that thought, I blink, allowing all the reasonable, practical, responsible thoughts to flood my mind.
“We can’t do whatever this is, where we both get caught up in themoment,” I whisper, heart sinking. “Where we lean into how good this feels and ignore the reality of our situation. I can’t be someone you cast aside.” That last sentence is louder. Stronger. “I won’t be someone you grow to resent or regret.”
I’ve been that girl before. Hell, I’m always that girl, it seems. I’m no stranger to rejection. But if this man rejected me, I don’t know how I’d go on.
He’s shown me so much kindness. He’s opened my eyes to what it can feel like to be seen, to be with a person who is willing to meet my needs. No, not willing. Eager.
Forget his job, his age, and his demon offspring.
My real hangup, it occurs to me now, is that Alaric is everything I’ve ever wanted in a partner, and I’m far more scared of surviving the loss of him than I am of never having him at all.
His eyes flit between mine, reading every emotion on my face, his etched with longing, his breath sawing in a rhythm that matches the rise and fall of my own chest.
I want him.
I’ve never wanted anyone like this.
But the promise of pleasure is no match for my fear of inevitable agony.
“Tell me not to kiss you,” he demands, like he didn’t hear a word of the logical, reasonable argument I just made.
We’re not doing what, exactly?
Tell me not to kiss you.
My mouth falls open, the protest on the tip of my tongue.
But the words won’t come. I can’t fight our mutual attraction on my own. If he wants to be reckless for one moment, then fuck it.
I’ve had a shit night anyway.
When I don’t object, he licks his lips and hovers closer. “Last chance, Evangeline.”
In response, I cock a defiant brow.
He glides his hand up my spine until he’s cupping the back of my head, putting me where he wants me. “For the record,” he says, his voice a ragged whisper, “I could never regret you.”
I don’t know who moves first. Maybe I lunge forward, or maybe he bows down. Either way, despite the words and the warnings and logic, we come together in a hungry, greedy, demanding kiss.
CHAPTER 25
ALARIC
Asweet, minty flavor punctuated with a hint of lime infiltrates my senses as I kiss Evangeline for the first time. Fingers digging into her hair, I move her until she’s where I want her. I’m eager. Desperate. Practically starved for this woman.
I’ve never craved someone like this. I’ve also never been so sure about anything in my life. As a man who loves statistics and certainty, that in and of itself is a remarkable feat.
I kiss her deeply, my tongue stroking hers, taking my time learning her rhythm. Focusing on her reactions, noting what she likes. Noting what drives her wild. Cataloging all the ways I can please her.
Thankfully, I’m a quick study.
