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“I wish I could return the favor,” he admitted.

“I’ll handle the magick. You pour us some wine.”

He nodded, releasing me. I faced the mirror, more breathless than when he’d snuck into my room. By the time I was finished removing my glamour, Yves had taken off his coat and opened the collar of his shirt. Two glasses of red wine sat on the stone ledge, and a blanket had been folded over the back of the cushioned settee. Beyond him, the sea stretched toward the horizon, black as the moonless sky.

Yves glanced at my dress, then offered me one of the glasses.

“Is this from your vineyard?” I asked.

“I only serve foreign wine to people I dislike.”

We sat beside one another and drank our wine in comfortable silence. It was dark and dry, with the taste of summer fruit and the faint aroma of oak that reminded me of Yves. Below us, the tide struck the rocks. I couldn’t help glancing over at him, catching pieces of him between sips.

“Did you enjoy playing Lucien tonight?” I asked lightly.

He shook his head. “He had terrible hair. It reminded me of Bastien.”

I let out a too-loud laugh, influenced by the wine, which was already giving me a warm buzz.

“Corinne was an excellent partner for the night,” he said.

“I liked her,” I admitted. “She came from a good family. Her Mama hosted grand dinners, took her dress shopping, and bought her books just because she thought she’d like them. And not a single person looked at her and saw a Kemp Witch. A traitor.” I traced the edge of my glass with a finger. “She was only a woman enjoying the evening with her husband. And her greatest crime was loving someone whom her Mama disapproved of.”

He made a soft sound in the back of his throat. My fingers tightened around the stem of my glass.

I didn’t know why, but I found myself saying, “I used to complain about my cousins snoring through the walls. It seems so silly now. I hate the quiet.” I chuckled then took another sip of wine, as if the admission didn’t feel like opening my ribs.

“Well,” Yves said, drawing in a deep breath over his glass. “Quiet should not be a problem here. As you know, my son has declared war upon it.”

I shifted on the cushions, and Yves guided me down until I was lying across his lap, my head resting on the arm of the settee. The wine and exhaustion from the night made my body heavy.

“You don’t have to be alone anymore, you know,” he said.

Yves leaned in, and oh, it was so tempting to meet him in the warm space between our mouths. To give in to my heart’s desire. To be like Corinne. Who might’ve made poor choices, but nobody else suffered for it. By Damien, I wanted it. I didn’t want to be driftwood anymore. I wanted a shore. His shore.

But part of me was still holding back. Every beat of my heart seemed to say, ‘What if? What if? What if?’

“I think this. You. Me. It frightens me more than anything,” I said.

He cupped my jaw with his cold hand. Just before his mouth reached mine, Yves said, “I don’t need anything from you, Cora. Nor do I expect anything.”

“I know.”

We both leaned in at the same time, our lips meeting in a slow kiss that had my fingers curling into his shirt. He was unhurried. Learning every change in my breath. When I parted my lips, his tongue swept over mine with such tenderness that my chest ached. But I didn’t let the pain stop me. I relaxed. I surrendered.

Yves held me close as his lips found mine, over and over again.

Don’t take this from me.

It was my prayer to all the gods, whoever was listening.

Don’t you dare take this from me too.

When Yves finally lifted his mouth from mine, a tear had fallen down my cheek. As I looked into his eyes, I saw the darkness of his thirst crowding in, and I knew after his injury it was important that he feed. But he wasn’t going to ask for anything from me. Not tonight.

“Perhaps now would be a good time to cash in on my wager winnings,” I offered.

He lifted a brow. “Are you sure?”