“Yes.I do.”
Something in me shifted.
I pushed off the counter and stepped toward him.Slow.Intentional.Like I knew exactly what I was doing even though I had no fucking idea what I was even thinking.
“What kind of wife do you think I’d make?”I asked.
There was a challenge in it.A test I wasn’t sure I wanted him to pass.
His gaze dipped—just for a second.Not to my eyes.To my lips.
Then it came back up.Steady.Unflinching.
“Not an easy one.”
A smirk tugged at my mouth.“At least you’re honest.”
“But not a bad one, either.”
His words knocked the air out of my lungs.
“And why’s that?”
“Because you don’t do anything halfway,” he said.“Not your loyalty.Not your anger.Not your love.”
My pulse tripped over itself.
I stopped in front of him.Close enough to feel the heat of him, the quiet control in the way he held himself.
“And you think that translates well into domestic bliss?”I murmured.
His mouth curved, but there was nothing soft about it.
“I think it translates into something resembling possibility.”
The words settled low.Heavy.Dangerous.
My breath slowed, but my pulse only hit harder—louder—like it was trying to warn me and push me forward at the same time.
“Careful,” I said quietly.
“Of what?”
“What you wish for.”
Something in him shifted.Darkened.
His hand came up slowly, giving me every chance to stop him.
I didn’t move.
His fingers touched my jaw.Rougher than they looked.Warmer than they should have been.He tilted my face just enough to hold me there, caught in his orbit.
“Or,” he said, voice lower now, edged with something that didn’t ask permission, “Maybe what I want is standing right here in front of me.”
My heart slammed against my ribs.He felt it.
His thumb dragged beneath my lip, testing, claiming, like he already knew what I’d do.
