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My gaze found hers, and I could tell by the way her cheeks colored she was thinking along similar lines. And then both of us realized we were being watched, and we broke the connection to say goodbye to Logan and be escorted to the meeting by Seth.
The Southmont house was large, even by Division standards, and was much like a colonial museum. The colors were rich, carpeting plush, and furnishings ornate dark woods. Oil portraits lined the corridors and elaborate battle scenes or landscapes featured the long walls of open, spacious rooms. The house had a history, and we were about to add to it.
Seth led the way, walking the halls in front of us, and I let my arm brush Emily’s, unable to resist the urge for at least some contact. When we at last neared the entrance to the conference room, she froze, a hint of panic in her tone. “Wait.”
Seth stopped, glancing over his shoulder in a half turn.
I waved him on. “Go ahead, we’ll be there in a minute.”
As soon as the door closed, she was in my arms, both of us in great need of one last touch. I squeezed her tight to me as we moved, until she was pressed against the wall and I could free my grip. She reached around my shoulders to bring herself higher, desperate to deepen the kiss, and my hands slid low to curve around her thigh and raise her off the ground. Her fingers were suddenly grasping at the hem of my shirt as she struggled to pull it free, to press her skin to mine. When she finally succeeded, her touch, her bare palms exploring the skin of my chest, my back, crossing my abdomen, sent fire through me. My hips pressed into hers and she groaned.
It took everything I had to pull away from her.
I leaned back, both of us breathless, and stared into her heavy-lidded eyes.
A wry smile crossed her lips as she realized we were still in the hall. She cleared her throat, and slowly withdrew her legs from around my waist to slide down the wall. My head leaned forward to press against hers, and then I found her mouth again, for two soft kisses. Her hands slipped from beneath my shirt, one gliding slowly up my chest to rest over my heart while the other circled my back in a tender embrace. And we simply stayed there. It was too long, and it would never be enough.
As the voices rose from within the conference room, Emily sighed, and I leaned further back to take her hand. I brought it up for a brief kiss, and then held it until the last moment, when the door finally opened in front of us.
The conference room was large, poorly lit, and packed full of Division men. Brendan stood front and center, fielding questions and sorting out arguments. Brianna was off to the side, sitting watch at what appeared to be the only isolated area of the room. With Wesley.
Though he didn’t acknowledge it, Wesley excused himself from Brianna’s side as we entered the room. We made our way over, and Emily took his seat on Brianna’s left as I slid onto the table, one foot resting on the bench to her right.
We listened as Brendan laid out a plan, giving specific, detailed directions to each of his men, covering every entrance and exit to the property, to the house. He didn’t miss one single aspect, didn’t skip over one single point. They were coming, and he would go over it until the last minute. It would be learned by rote.
It wasn’t long before Emily became restless, standing, shifting, and then pacing the back and side walls of the conference room.
I tried not to watch her, leaning forward as I sat on the table, elbow resting just above my knee, thumb twisting the ring on my middle finger.
Brianna didn’t look at me as she spoke. “It’s not going to work.”
“No,” I said, though the certainty I felt was not the work of prophecy. It was merely familiarity with Morgan.
“She will save us,” Brianna said. “But not this time.”
My thumb stilled against the ring. “Brianna—”
She turned to me then, so close beside me, and the wanness in her face stopped me short. “It keeps shifting,” she said with a sad smile. “It’s never done that before.”
I glanced automatically at Emily.
“Yes,” Brianna said. “I suppose I should have thought of that, given that none of the prophecies went past the union.”
She took a deep breath and my eyes came back to hers, questioning.
“I’m just tired,” she said.
“Come on,” I said, stepping down from my seat. “There’s no reason for us to be here.”
When I grasped her hand, several of the observers across the room took notice. But it didn’t bother me now, because none of that mattered. The union was complete.
And nothing about it felt wrong.
