Page 70 of Black Castle

Her eyes flicker to his.

“I didn’t know you had more tattoos,” she says, abandoning his forearm to grasp his left hand. Her thumb brushes over the words just above the pulse on his wrist.

“What does it mean?”

“Memento mori,” he murmurs, the words wrapping around his voice like smoke, his eyes never straying from her. “Remember you must die.”

Her lips part slightly. “Dark. But very true.”

A thick silence settles between them, charged and waiting as her fingers mindlessly trail the lines in his palm like a fortune teller.

“Why have you come here?” he asks, his voice low, too low.

Her fingers freeze, her heart stuttering.

“Because I wanted to see you.” She doesn’t look at him when she says it. She doesn’t want to lose her nerves. “Because I missed you.”

“You’re going to ruin everything by coming here, Vivienne.” The words ignite something fierce in her.

“Ruin what?”

She gently rises to her feet.

But he doesn’t flinch. He just watches her with a lazy, unreadable expression.

“I know I said we could be friends, but I can’t be your friend Vivienne.” The words land like a punch to her ribs. “I thought it was for the best when you blocked me”

“What?” Her breath halts.

“I wanted to be something more. And I would have been but—” he pauses and her pulse pounds. “But you will not be safe with me.”

A thick silence stretches between them.

“Why?” Her voice is barely above a whisper.

He steps off the dresser. He takes too slow, yet deliberate steps until he’s hovering over her.

One hand lifts, his finger ghosting along her jaw.

His thumb drags her lower lip, a featherlight touch, so delicate it shouldn’t make her tremble the way it does. But it does.

His actions catch her off guard. This is the most intimate he has ever been with her. She wishes her heart can calm down so she can focus on treasuring every moment.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” he murmurs, leaning in, his breath warm against her lips, thick with coffee and mint.

“But I wanted to be here.” Her lashes flutter, her hand resting on his hand chest, while the other clutches the hem of the baggy T shirt she is wearing.

His hand skims her side, lowering to her waists, his finger gripping her tight as if he can’t get close enough. “He will never let you go.”

Her blood turns ice cold.

He?

Who the hell is he talking about?

Chapter Twenty-two

Vivienne

---