Page 62 of Redemption

My fingers spear into his thick, midnight hair, and I drag him to me, urging him to take me more deeply. I share every breath with him, and my heart races for him.

Rain begins to fall, and I welcome the cooling mist on our heated skin. It dampens his hair, and the thick, short waves tighten into loose curls. I twine them around my fingers, reveling in the feel of him against me.

It feels like a cruel eternity has passed since our last kiss. I’m a different woman than I was then. This is a different life.

One that I’m sharing with him, whether it’s by my own choice or by his will.

In this moment, I choose to be with him. To stop twisting myself in knots and just let go.

And it feels so blissful that my eyes sting with the force of my emotional release. I close them and kiss him like I need him more than oxygen.

The rain is falling in fat, cool drops, and I shiver despite the heat between us.

Dane breaks the kiss, fixing me with a cocky smirk at the sound of my small whimper of protest.

“Let’s get out of the rain. Come on.”

“I don’t mind,” I insist, wanting to stay in this surreal, peaceful bubble with him for a while longer. “It’s at least half an hour to walk back to the house. We’re wet anyway.”

“There’s shelter nearby. The rain will pass soon, and then we can walk back.” He grasps my hand and starts walking. “No more arguing, Abigail.”

I huff out a breath, but I don’t really feel annoyed. I’m still burning for him, and I remember the pleasure I used to experience when I obeyed his every wicked command.

“I don’t like it when you tell me to shut up,” I inform him.

He quickens our pace as the rain falls faster. “I would never tell you to shut up. I love the sound of your voice too much. I simply don’t want to argue.”

I love the sound of his voice, too. That gorgeous, lilting accent when he caresses my name with his tongue. The way histone deepens when we’re intimate. The way he rumbles when he reads my favorite books to me, like rolling thunder during a warm summer storm.

We arrive at a tumbledown stone building that used to be some sort of barn or small enclosure for sheep. Now, half of the roof has fallen in, and it obviously hasn’t been functional in many years.

“It’s safe,” Dane reassures me as we duck under the remaining shelter. “I’ve been coming here since I was a boy, and it hasn’t changed one bit.”

“Your home is so beautiful,” I say with fervent sincerity. This estate has some of the most stunning landscapes I’ve ever seen. I can hardly wait to paint them.

He chuckles. “We’re standing in a ruin during a downpour. It’s soggy and gloomy. I’d hardly consider that beautiful.”

“You’re just not looking properly,” I tease. “Don’t you see the way the sunlight plays over the hills?”

He steps toward me, and for a moment, I think he’s going to kiss me again. His face is sharp with hunger, and I tip my head back to welcome his claim.

Instead, his big hands bracket my waist, and he spins me so that I’m facing away from him, looking out at the landscape. He pins me to his front with his firm grip on my hips.

His breath warms my rain-chilled neck as he murmurs in my ear, “Tell me more. Describe it to me.”

I’m compelled to respond. Not by his commands, but because I hear the yearning that roughens his voice. He wants to see what I see.

I lean back into his strong body, and just like on our first dates, the world comes into sharper focus. The countryside is naturally verdant, but now the color palette turns almost surreal.

I point down the length of the valley. “The river looks so blue at this distance, like a shiny, navy satin ribbon that somecareless goddess has dropped between the hills. And the way the afternoon light hits the lake makes it glitter with gold sparks.” My gesture shifts to the rolling hills. “It’s gloomy here, but farther away, you can see the shadows of the incoming rainclouds dappling the grass. How many shades of green do you think I would need to paint to capture it? I’m not sure if I even can.”

“You can,” he says with the weight of an oath. “You are remarkable, Abigail.” He nuzzles my hair and twines my purple curl around one elegant finger. “I’ve never seen the world the way you do. You make it brighter and more beautiful than I ever thought possible.”

“Dane…”

The way he talks about me is overwhelming; like I’m his own personal miracle. He believes in my art. He understands me like no one else.

He applies steady pressure to my curl, tugging gently until I turn my face to his. He captures my lips again, and I don’t hold anything back. I pour all of my tumultuous emotions into the kiss: my longing, my pain, my turmoil. And above all, desire. It’s carnal and desperate, hot enough to sear away reason and self-doubt.

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