Page 39 of Until She's Mine
Morning light slants through the penthouse windows, painting golden stripes across the rumpled sheets where Evelyn sleeps.
Her breath is slow and even, her dark lashes fanned against her cheeks. In sleep, she’s unguarded. There are no carefully constructed smiles, no walls to keep me out. Just softness, warmth, and trust so fragile it makes my chest ache.
Mine.
I should let her rest. Last night tore through her like a storm, leaving her trembling and spent in my arms. But I can’t resist tracing the curve of her bare shoulder with my fingertips, committing the feel of her skin to memory.
Then I get up and move to the kitchen to brew coffee, the rich aroma filling the space as I methodically prepare two cups: black for me, latte for her.
I find my phone on the kitchen counter, its screen lit with notifications. A few voicemails from Tobias and a string of texts from my father. I ignore my father’s questions about my current case and press play on Tobias’s first voicemail. His voice is raw, a mix of anger and desperation.
“You sick fuck! I’ll ruin—”
Delete.
“She’ll never choose a monster like—”
Delete.
“You think you can take her? Evelyn and I had a deal. You can’t—”
Delete.
Through the open doorway, I can see the faint rise and fall of the sheets where Evelyn sleeps. My fingers tighten around the mug. Even now, part of me expects this to be another dream, another cruel trick my mind has conjured after years of wanting. But the lingering scent of jasmine on my skin is real. The ache in my muscles from holding her all night is real, too.
A soft sound from the bedroom draws my attention. Evelyn stirs, her hand stretching across the empty space where I lay moments ago. Her eyes flutter open, drowsy and disoriented. When they find me standing in the doorway, her gaze shifts. Awareness dawns, and memories of last night surface. A blush creeps up her throat.
“Morning,” she murmurs, voice sleep-rough and impossibly sweet.
I cross to her in ten strides, setting her coffee on the nightstand before cupping her face in my hands. Her skin is warm beneath my palms as I press my mouth to hers without a word. The kiss is slow, thorough. When I pull back, her lips are parted, eyes dark with desire.
She reaches for me, but I take a step back.
“Drink your coffee,” I say softly. “We have things to discuss.”
Her fingers curl around the warm mug, her eyes on me as she takes a tentative sip. The steam curls around her face, softening her features, but there’s a tension in her shoulders that wasn’t there when she woke up. She sets the mug down carefully, her gaze steady despite the flush still lingering on her cheeks.
“What things?” she asks.
I lean against the edge of the bed, my arms crossed. “We should go out of town for the weekend.”
It’s my opportunity to spend more time with Evelyn. While everyone else calm the fuck down.
Evelyn blinks. “Out of town?”
She sits up straighter, the sheets pooling around her waist, her hair tousled from sleep. But then her eyes catch on my forearm.My tattoo. For a moment, she just stares, her brow furrowing as if she’s trying to decipher the intricate lines. Her fingers brush against the swirl of dark ink that seems to shift and coil like smoke. “Is that?”
“Vinci knot.”
“And my name?”
The intricate swirls of the Vinci knot—a symbol of endless connection, of unbreakable bonds—are unmistakable. But there, woven into the design, is her name: Evelyn. It’s subtle, almost hidden within the pattern, but once you see it, it’s impossible to miss.
“Yes.”
Evelyn’s lips part, but no words come out. Her chest rises and falls with quick, shallow breaths.
“When?” she finally asks.
