Page 52 of Until She's Mine
“Take your time,” I say, though I’m not sure she hears me. Evelyn’s fingertips brush softly over the paper as if she could step into the sketches and inhabit those moments again and see herself through my eyes.
I leave her to it, stepping out of the study and closing the door behind me.
Evelyn needs this. She needs to see what I’ve seen all along. She needs to know how deeply I’ve studied her, how fiercely she’s imprinted on my soul. That I’ll never let her go.
Two hours later, Evelyn finds me in my office. Her fingers are stained with charcoal, smudges of grey marking her skin as she climbs into my lap without a word. Her lips find mine, desperate and hungry, and my hands grip her waist, pulling her closer until there’s no space left between us.
Her kiss is urgent, almost frantic, as if she’s trying to climb inside me, to merge our breaths, our heartbeats, our very souls. Now she knows I’ve been dreaming of her long before she ever dreamed of me.
Her hands claw at my shoulders, her nails digging into the fabric of my shirt as she presses herself against me. I can feel the heat of her body through the thin material of her blouse, the way her hips grind against mine in a rhythm that’s now familiar.
She pulls back just enough to whisper against my lips, her voice trembling. “Tell me again.”
I know what she’s asking for. My fingers tighten in her hair, tilting her head back so I can look into her hazel eyes, wide and pleading.
“I love you. You’re mine. I’ll never let you go. Not now, not ever.”
Her pupils dilate, her lips parting on a shuddering exhale. The city lights paint her body in streaks of gold and shadow as I push her back against the desk, scattering papers and pens in a chaotic cascade. Later, when she’s sated and pliant beneath me, I press my lips to the fluttering pulse at her throat.
“Welcome home,” I murmur against her skin.
Outside, a storm rolls in over Central Park. The first raindrops hit the windows while I carry her to the bedroom, and tuck us under the heavy silk sheets.
It’s good to be home.
Chapter 24
Evelyn
The scent of freshly ground coffee beans pulls me from sleep. For one disorienting moment, I don’t recognize the silk sheets tangled around my legs or how the morning light fractures through floor-to-ceiling windows instead of my apartment’s cheap blinds. Then I remember the penthouse, the agreement to move in, Lucian’s lips at my throat as he murmuredwelcome homeagainst my pulse point.
I stretch, wincing at the pleasant ache between my thighs.
The bedroom door swings open without warning. Lucian stands framed in the doorway, already dressed in a grey three-piece suit that costs more than my annual salary. He carries a tray with a black porcelain coffee cup, a croissant so flaky it sheds golden crumbs onto the sterling silver, and a single peony in a crystal vase.
“You’re awake.” He sets the tray across my lap, his fingers lingering on my bare shoulder. “I have a meeting with Tobias and Father at nine.”
“Shit.” I take the coffee first, needing the caffeine to wake me up properly.
“Don’t worry. You’re not expected to join. I’ll handle them.” His thumb brushes my lower lip, catching a stray drop. “But you should come by the office to have lunch with me and sign an NDA.”
I blink up at him. “An NDA? Really?”
“Father won’t let you go off the hook so easily. He’ll want assurances that you won’t speak to the press or anyone else about the family’s private matters. It’s standard procedure. Nothing to worry about.”
I nod, though the idea of signing anything feels like another chain tightening around me. But I know better than to argue. Lucian’s world is built on contracts and control, and if I want to stay in it, I have to play by his rules.
Even if there is nothing I dread more than facing Tobias.
“Fine,” I say, taking another sip of coffee. “I’ll be there.”
His lips graze my forehead. “Good girl. Enjoy your breakfast, and don’t miss me too much.”
The door clicks shut behind him.
By the time I’ve showered using that ridiculously expensive bergamot soap Lucian insists on and dressed in a slip of a black dress that makes my skin look like poured cream, the housekeeper has already erased all evidence of our morning. The bed is made with military precision, the tray vanished, and evenmy discarded underwear was spirited away to whatever magical place Lucian’s staff launders silk and secrets.
I find the coffee machine still warm, its LED display blinkingEVELYN’S COFFEE. The absurdity makes me smile. Of course, Lucian programmed the damn espresso machine to my preferences. I bet he knows exactly how many grams of sugar I take in my tea, too.
