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Something feels off. I can’t put my finger on it. Something is unsettling and discouraging.
But when he kisses me again, my heart melts and my protests thaw like snow under rain. When his tongue licks mine, I moan and sink further into the bed, my arms encircling his neck as he continues to ravage me.
Soon, my body is heated and flushed with the need for more.
“Come here,” he says with a sad but wicked smile.
I tell myself he’s troubled by what happened. I tell myself he doesn’t like this any more than I do. He fights his demons and I fight mine.
We stop talking. He undresses me and pays particular attention to kissing my shoulders, the undersides of my breasts. He licks my nipples and strokes them while nudging my knees apart.
“Please,” I beg, my arms around his neck, begging for the only thing that will give me comfort and consolation—being closer to him.
He holds my gaze as he glides into me. I sigh at the feeling of being completely full, completely connected to him.
“I love you, Cosette,” he says softly. A rush of emotion chokes me. I swallow the lump in my throat.
“And I love you,” I respond in a trembling voice as my body starts to tense, the first beginning spasm of pleasure kissing my nerves. I moan as he tenses and shudders into his own release on the heels of mine. I give in to this fully, to the utter and perfect bliss, until he finally slumps against me. Our breathing unites, and he nestles his head on my chest.
I love Lyam Gerard. He’s not only the father of my child, he also owns my heart. But if the two of us are going to make this work, he needs nothing but the truth.
Thewholetruth.
I need to tell him. I need him to know the truth, so we can face this together.
I open my mouth to tell him everything.
I’m the bastard child of François Montague.
Will he believe the worst? Does he trust me?
My heart pounding, I’m about to tell him everything when he speaks first.
Still, I can’t help but feel that something’s wrong.
Something’s terribly wrong.
We just made love and he told me he loved me, but it feels like… goodbye.
Why does it feel like goodbye?
He doesn’t look in my eyes when he pulls out. He doesn’t look at me when he cleans me up and tucks a blanket around me.
He doesn’t look at me when he deals the final blow that feels like a fist to my heart.
“I want you to understand that it’s because I love you that I need you to go.”
I sit up. My body’s still heated, my pulse still racing from making love.
Did I mishear him? I feel as if someone splashed cold water on me. A prickle of fear and apprehension washes down my spine. I start to tremble.
“What?” I whisper.
“If you’re anywhere near me, you’re in danger. Don’t you see? They want to get tome.They killed Rousseau because they know that we met. They know that the two of us were together, and the fact that you weren’t harmed makes me feel like you escaped by the skin of your goddamn teeth.” He shakes his head. “You can’t stay here anymore, not with me. I can’t keep yousafeif you’re with me.”
“Of course you can,” I protest. He can do anything.
But I know before I speak that it’s fruitless. If he’s made up his mind, then he won’t be talked out of it. He can do anything if he wants to, I know he can. My voice sounds pathetic even to my own ears as I plead with him. “Lyam…”
