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“Only if it’s the truth.”
“And is it?”
Her throat bobbed again with another swallow. “Honestly, I’m not sure. I want to see, to try. But you want me to swear to forever. And I can’t promise that yet.”
“Damn it, why not? What the hell else are you looking for?”
She took the next step, into the vee of his legs on the corner of the desk where he perched. “Sometimes you show me the ruthless vicious Sanyet and, at other times, the poet. With words so beautiful they make me want to cry. Stroking me with hands so soft and patient, I want to cry even harder.” She laid her hand along his cheek. The cool touch soothing some of the fire burning through his turmoil.
“If I stay, will I get the poet or the killer?” She stroked over his stubble; her eyes softer than a downy feather. “The beauty or the beast?”
“Would you take one and reject the other? I’m both and I never hid what I was from you. So, you’ll take me as I fucking am or you’ll get the fuck out and never look back.”
She jerked her hand back, her fingers singed by his ire. Her mouth opened while her eyes welled again. Welled but not spilled. She was alright. She’d be alright. He was the one who was leaving the room eviscerated. “I need to know if I stay, will you save my family?”
“No, you don’t.” His brows lowered. “Stay for me. or Get. The. Fuck. Out.” He grabbed her shoulders, lifting her to her toes. “This is me giving you my good side. The beauty side. The beast would lock you in a fucking tower and throw away the damn key. So, if you’re leaving, you better do it before he comes back.
She glared at him. “I’ll fucking stay.”
“For your family? Or for me?”
“For me. Because nobody has ever made me feel the way you do. Nobody gets me like you do. When you told your story. You told my story. We’re two halves of the same apple. Both split down to the core, and we fell onto different sides, but we’re one. We were always one.”
“Now, who’s the fucking poet?” He arched a brow, before she could ask… again. “And yes, I’ll have Venedikt release your damn family.”
“Thank you.” She glared before his eyes softened with a grin. And the curls, her heavenly curls danced giddily on her shoulders. “We’re so fucking romantic and mush I can’t stand us.” Jessa returned his grin.
“And just imagine, it’s only going to get worse.”
He pulled her into his arms. Unable to hold back even another millisecond. Sucking the words from her lips as she muttered. “Much, much worse.”
God, he hoped so. Wow. God. He hoped.
The waves of passion lapped at their legs before rolling over them with a high tide. Ebbing, flowing receding and finally leaving behind something shiny, bright and better than what had been there before.
