Page 34 of Until She's Mine
“It’s none of your concern,” I say. My hand moves to hers, prying her fingers from the jacket and lacing them with mine. “My father can disown me if he wants. The company can burn for all I care. None of it matters if I don’t have you.”
Her breath catches. “You don’t mean that.”
“I’ve never meant anything more,” I say. Her hand trembles in mine, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, her fingers curl around mine tightly. She’s trying to hold herself together, but I can see the cracks forming.
Good.
She can break. I’ll be there to piece her back together.
It’s a two-hour drive back to Tribeca. The streets are nearly empty, the storm driving even the most determined New Yorkers indoors. The radio hums low, a melancholic jazz tune that seems to mirror the tension in the car. A thread pulled taut, ready to snap.
Evelyn’s breathing evens out, though her fingers still cling to mine as if I’m her lifeline. She doesn’t speak, and neither do I. Words are unnecessary when the weight of everything unsaid hangs so heavily between us. The silence is thick, but not uncomfortable.
When we finally pull up to my building, the doorman rushes out with an umbrella, his expression carefully neutral as he opens Evelyn’s door. She hesitates, her gaze flickering to me before she steps out into the rain. I follow close behind, my hand resting on the small of her back, guiding her inside.
Her shoulder brushes against mine in the elevator, but I resist the urge to pull her closer, to wrap her in something more than just fabric.
The penthouse is dark when we step inside, save for the city lights bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I turn the lights on, and Evelyn hesitates in the foyer, her gaze sweeping over the warm tones of the room—rosewood bookshelves, exposed brick walls, plush furniture. She’s never been here before, and I watch as she takes it all in, her eyes lingering on the art pieces lining the walls. She stops in front of a small painting by an obscure French artist. Her fingers hover over the frame.
“You have good taste.”
I step closer, until there’s barely an inch between us. “I recognize beauty when I see it.”
“Your place is beautiful,” she murmurs. “It’s different from what I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
“Something colder. More... sterile. Monochrome.”
“I like my home to feel lived-in. The manor and my office are cold enough.”
“I don’t know you at all,” Evelyn says, and there’s a note of frustration in her voice. She turns to face me, her eyes searching mine. “Not where it matters.”
“Do you want to?”
Her mouth opens, but no words come out. She wants to know me, but she’s afraid of what she’ll find. Afraid of the darkness that simmers beneath the surface, the shadows I’ve kept hidden from everyone but her.
My hand rises to her cheek, brushing away a droplet of rainwater that clings to her skin. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull away.
“Do you want to know me, Evelyn?” I repeat. My voice is rougher this time. “Because if you do, there’s no going back. Once you see the parts of me that no one else has ever seen, there’ll be no turning away.”
Her gaze flickers down to my lips, then back up, and I see the moment she makes her decision. She leans into me, and her fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt, pulling me closer.
“I’m already in too deep,” she says. “I don’t think I could walk away now even if I wanted to.”
“Good, because I’m not letting you go.”
My hand slides from her cheek to the nape, fingers tangling in the damp strands of her hair. She tilts her head back, her lips parted. The space between us disappears as I close the distance, my mouth capturing hers.
The kiss deepens, slow and lazy. Every gentle lick of my tongue and scrape of my teeth is calculated to unravel her.Consume her.The tension in her body melts away, replaced by something far more primal. Her breath mingles with mine, warm and sweet, and I’m overwhelmed by the taste of her, rain, and something uniquely Evelyn. It’s intoxicating, and I want to burrow into her, crack her ribs, and crawl inside, to never be alone again.
Her fingers slide into my hair, and a low groan escapes me. I press her back against the wall, my body pinning hers as my hands roam over the curve of her waist and the dip of her spine. Her dress hugs her body, soaked from the rain, and she trembles beneath my touch, but it’s not from desire.
I break away with a ragged breath.
Her swollen lips part in a protest. “Lucian—”
“Guest room.” I step back, adjusting my cuffs to hide the tremor in my hands. “First door down the hall.”
