Page 55 of Stolen Vows

A flush of heat crawls up my neck as I realize the endearment slipped out without thought. I clear my throat, shifting on my feet. “It’s just you and me here. You’re safe.”

“Oh—I wasn’t—it’s not.” She pauses, sighs. “Yeah. I wasn’t feeling unsafe.” The corner of her mouth curls up on one side. “But thank you for checking.”

I study her face, trying to decipher the emotions flickering behind her eyes. “Of course.”

She exhales slowly, her shoulders dropping as she reaches for her latte. “I really needed this today. Thank you, Graham.” She looks at me when she says my name, all honeyed whiskey eyes underneath impossibly dark lashes.

And it still feels like a bat to the sternum. Second only to the way she tastes.

If I was a superhero, she’d be my kryptonite. My absolute undoing. And ending I’d welcome with open arms, just to feel her against me.

I nod, watching as she takes a long sip. “You’re welcome, Francesca.” Her name rolls off my tongue, the syllables already familiar and cherished. “But you don’t have to thank me every time.”

She sets the cup down, tongue flicking out to catch a stray drop of caramel. My eyes track the movement before I can stop myself. Memories of last week’s kiss flood my mind unbidden. The taste of her kiss, the soft gasp she made when I pulled her close, the way her body melted into mine.

I clench my jaw, forcing my gaze back to her face.Focus, Carter. Now is not the time to start thinking of every inch of her I want to taste.

She’s looking at me now, really looking, like she’s trying to see past the surface. Like she wants to know what’s going on inside my head. If only she knew the depths of my obsession, my need to unravel every mystery, to possess every secret.

Starting with whoever or whatever upset her today.

“Francesca.” Her name is a gentle prod, a quiet demand. “Talk to me.”

She huffs a low laugh, her fingers flexing around the coffee cup. “I’m sorry. Maybe we should, I don’t know, reschedule or something. I don’t want to be bad company.”

I exhale sharply, leveling her with a look. She blinks up at me. I step closer, bracing a hand on the counter, my body angled toward hers. Close enough that I catch the citrus-sweet scent of her shampoo, that I see the way her breath hitches when I move into her space.

“I’ll take any version of you,” I murmur, my voice low and rough. “Good day, bad day. Sunshine, storm. You could never be bad company. Not to me.”

Her lips part, a sharp inhale catching in her throat. Her fingers twitch against the counter, like she wants to reach for me but won’t let herself.

The air shifts between us. Heavy. Charged.

Her throat moves as she swallows, and I track the movement, my grip tightening on the counter’s edge. Then she huffs a breathy, almost disbelieving laugh and shakes her head. “Graham Carter. What am I gonna do with you?”

I smirk, slow and deliberate. “Anything. Everything.”

Something flickers behind her eyes, warm with desire. But she looks away too quickly for me to catch it.

She clears her throat, straightening her spine as she reaches for the pastry bag. “I hope you brought me something extra sweet today. I think I’m gonna need it.” She peeks inside, her smile growing. “Ooh, blueberry muffins are myfavorite. How did you know?”

I lift one shoulder in a shrug. “Lucky guess.”

It wasn’t a guess at all. I’ve been cataloging her reactions to every treat I bring, filing away each smile, each appreciative hum for future reference. Blueberry muffins elicited the biggest response.

Her eyes flit back to mine as she plucks a muffin from the bag. “Well, I appreciate your lucky guesses.” She takes a bite, her lashes fluttering closed as she hums in approval. “God, that’s perfect.”

I watch her, transfixed by the simple pleasure on her face, the way the tension seems to melt from her shoulders with each bite. I want to give her this every single fucking day. These small moments of uncomplicated happiness.Iwant to be the reason her eyes light up, the reason the clouds part.

“Yeah. It is.”

She pauses, scraping a bit of sticky muffin residue from her thumb with her teeth, her eyes still closed. When she opens them again, some of her usual sparkle is back.

“You know, it really is wild what a perfectly baked blueberry muffin can do,” she muses, licking a stray crumb from the corner of her mouth. “I’m feeling better already.”

“Good.”

“Do you still want to walk?”

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