Page 30 of Until She's Mine
“The side that buys roses for your mother every time you visit. The side that makes sure I eat when I’m sick.” She bites her lower lip, hard enough to leave a mark. “There are a million beautiful, Ivy League women at your parents’ parties every week. Why fixate on me? I’m engaged to your brother.”
“You’re not married to him.”
“That isn’t the point.”
I press my forehead to hers. “You deserve to be chosen,” I say softly. “Not settled for. Not collected like a trophy. But you have to choose yourself first. Stop waiting for Tobias to see you, to value you. He never will, Evelyn.”
“Why should I trust you?” Her voice trembles. “You’re just as dangerous as he is, Lucian. Maybe more.”
“The first time I saw you, you were in your NYU sweatshirt and a pair of jeans so worn they were almost white at the knees. You were sitting on the steps outside the library, your hair piled up in a messy bun, a sketchbook balanced on your lap. You didn’t see me.” My thumb brushes against her cheekbone, and her breath hitches. “You were drawing the skyline, and you had this look of absolute concentration on your face. Like nothing else inthe world existed except what you were creating. And I thought,‘That’s it. That’s her.’”
Her eyes are wide now, searching mine for truth and reassurance. I give her my honesty. “I didn’t know your name then. I didn’t know anything about you except that you had a way of seeing the world that made me want to see it too. And then, when I finally met you, it was like I already knew you. Like I’d been waiting for you my whole life.”
At first, it might have been a crush. A dream of a woman who could make me better, kinder. But then, I witnessed Evelyn’s dark side and knew she was everything I never knew I needed.
She shakes her head. “It was before I met Tobias.”
There is conflict in her eyes. She tries to reconcile the past with this moment, with me.
Her fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt, holding me there, her breath shallow and uneven. “Why didn’t you say something?” she whispers, her voice breaking. “Why didn’t you tell me then?”
I exhale slowly, my grip on the railing tightening. “Because Tobias got there first. And because I thought… I thought you were happy.” My voice grows quieter. “Then I saw that you’re not, but I knew if I pushed too soon, you’d run.”
“And now? Do you think I’m ready now?”
I tilt her chin up gently, forcing her to meet my eyes. “That’s not for me to decide. But I think you’re starting to see what I’ve seen all along. That you deserve more than a life half-lived, more than a love that doesn’t burn as brightly as you do.”
Evelyn’s breath shudders as she slowly and tentatively lifts her arms and wraps them around my neck, her fingers tangling in the hair at my nape. Her body presses against mine, and I feel the rapid flutter of her heartbeat, a mirror to my own.
She exhales, a soft, trembling sound. “Do you really believe that? Or is this just another game to you?”
My hands slide down to her waist, anchoring her to me. “We’ve wasted enough time already. I’m not playing games anymore, Evelyn. Not with you.”
Perhaps with circumstances, but never with her.
I want her to choose me, to want me. Not to feel obligated or trapped.
Her lashes flutter as she processes this, and then she presses a kiss to my chest, just above the place where my heart hammers against my ribs. It’s soft, almost hesitant, but it burns through me like a brand. I feel the heat of her lips through my shirt, and it takes every ounce of control I have not to crush her to me, not to claim her mouth with the hunger that has been building inside me for years. But I wait. I let her set the pace, let her decide how far this goes.
She steps back and says, “I need to think.”
I don’t stop her, though every fiber of my being screams to pull her back, to keep her close. Instead, I let my hands fall to my sides, my fingers curling into loose fists as I watch her retreat back into the shadows of the library.
The spot on my chest where her lips met my shirt still burns.
Chapter 15
Evelyn
The dream begins where reality ended—with my fingers tracing his jaw, the rough texture of his stubble catching against my skin. But in the dream, I don’t pull away. I lean in, my lips brushing against his, and the world around us dissolves into a haze of warmth and light. It’s soft at first, tentative, like the first stroke of a brush on a blank canvas. But then his hands are on my waist, pulling me closer, and the kiss deepens, hungry and desperate as if we’re trying to make up for all the time we’ve lost.
Lucian licks a slow stripe up my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below my ear. His breath is hot, sending shivers down my spine. My hands slide into his hair, gripping tightly as he moves lower, his lips trailing a path of fire across my collarbone. The world narrows to his mouth on my skin, his hands moving with purpose, exploring every curve and hollow. “Tell me to stop.”
I arch into his mouth instead.
His fingers twist in my hair, tilting my head back. My hands slide down his back, feeling the tension in his muscles as he presses me closer. The railing digs into my back when he hooks his hand under my knee, lifting it to wrap around his hip. His other hand pushes up my skirt.
“Look at you,” he growls against my throat. “Dripping for me already.”
