Page 46 of The Sound of Seduction
Her throat tightened, the vulnerability in his words catching her off guard. She nodded slowly, her lips curving into a small, hesitant smile. “Yes,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.
“Yes?” he echoed, his mouth lifting as though the simple agreement meant more to him than he could say. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the air between them thick with unspoken emotion.
Finally, Wendy’s grip on his hand tightened just slightly. “Stan?”
“Yes?”
Her cheeks flushed, but she met his gaze head-on. “Will you kiss me again?”
*
Stan barely waitedfor Wendy’s words to settle, the sound still hovering in the air before he closed the distance between them.
Yes.
So simple.
And yet, it meant everything.
His lips met hers with the same measured gentleness as before, but this time, there was no holding back the urgency simmering beneath his restraint. It wasn’t rushed—it never would be with her—but it pulled him entirely into the moment. The kiss felt impossibly intimate, as though they’d done this a hundred times and yet were discovering it anew.
Her hands came up, hesitant at first, then firm as they anchored themselves to his shoulders. That single motion made him forget to breathe. She wasn’t retreating; she wasn’t uncertain. She was holding onto him, pulling him closer, and that knowledge sent a jolt of something deep and searing through his chest. His hands cradled her face, fingers brushing softly against her skin, and a part of him swore her pulse fluttered under his touch, quickened and alive. It felt like the most important thing he’d ever done, being here and kissing her like this.
Everything else—the duty and the expectations waiting for him beyond this moment—fell away. His world, once dominated by rules and roles, now narrowed entirely to her. She reset his perception because, from now on, there would be Wendy before anything and anyone else. The warmth of her lips, the faint tremble in her grip, and the subtle scent of something soft and flower-soapy that clung to her—all of it held him in place, as though he had found the one thing he hadn’t known he needed even more than air.
When he finally eased back, Stan’s forehead came down to meet hers, unwilling to part completely. Their breaths tangled in the fragile quiet between them, and he couldn’t stop himself from searching her face, needing some signal that she felt it, too—that this wasn’t just him being swept away, that she was right there with him. Her flushed cheeks and the way her chest rose and fell unevenly grounded him, a subtle, unspoken answer to his silent question.
“Wendy,” he said softly, his voice rough from the emotion tightening his throat. He knew no other words would suffice but the simple truth. “I’m yours. No matter what happens, no matter what comes—it’s you. Only you.”
But the danger that Baron von List would come, that was for sure. And it was an uncalculated but enormous risk. He’d attempted to murder Benjamin Klonimus, stolen from the trade route, infiltrated the House of Lords, kidnapped Thea, and sent his lackeys to try again. There was no doubt that even when List didn’t personally attack, he was sending the attackers.
He could see her breath hitch, hear the faint gasp as her fingers curled tighter against the towel draped over him. Stan braced himself for hesitation, for the shadow of doubt he’d grown so accustomed to seeing in her eyes when the reality of who he was loomed between them. He was the person between the doom List could cause and the safe and happy life he wished to give Wendy. But she didn’t pull away. Instead, her lips tilted into the smallest smile, and one of her hands lifted to touch his face in return, a touch of a caress that sent heat coursing through his veins.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said, her voice quiet but firm, her gaze settling on his. Her words struck him like a sharp pang in his chest—breathtaking and raw. She paused, and he held his breath, not daring to interrupt her. “Not now, not ever.”
His heart stumbled at her meaning. He wanted to respond, but the seriousness in her gaze stilled him, urging him to listen.
“I don’t know what the future looks like,” she continued, her laughter soft but tinged with a vulnerability that made his chest ache. “But I don’t want to—can’t—waste another moment running from this. And yet, wherever this—” she laid a hand on his arm, “leads me, I will never leave my brother.”
Never leave her brother… Stan nodded and inhaled deeply. Understood. She must have given this some thought. Well, so had he.
Her courage astounded him, but more than that, it unraveled something inside him. He lifted his hand to cover hers as it rested against his cheek. “You don’t know what it means,” he began, his voice thick, “to hear those words.”
“I think I do,” she replied, her tone trembling but certain enough to root him to the spot. Her cheeks flushed deeper, and when she hesitated, looking away, Stan didn’t push her. Every passing moment felt like an unraveling for them both—the layers of doubt, fear, and hesitation falling away to reveal something starkly real. Finally, she braved his gaze again and whispered, “You make me believe I can be more for the first time and yet, I remain anchored to London and my brother.”
Stan swallowed hard, gratitude laced with determination surging within him. Words seemed a poor substitute for what she’d gifted him just now—her trust, her willingness to meet him halfway—but he couldn’t leave her words hanging unanswered. He leaned in again, brushing her lips with his, slow and deliberate. This wasn’t a kiss meant to claim or persuade. It was a promise—a tangible expression of the vow he’d made the moment she walked into his world.
But his world was laced with intrigue, danger, and the ever-simmering fuse to wage war. Wherever he went, he was a representative of the conflict of the European hegemonies—or lack thereof. Trouble didn’t follow him by chance. It followed him by definition.
He shouldn’t drag her into this.
“Wendy,” he murmured, his voice low but weighted, “My name alone draws danger the way a storm draws lightning. Wherever I go, it follows. You’d be safer without me.” Stan swallowed the rest of his words. What an idiot he was, longingfor her and then, when she finally kissed him, warning her that he’d be nothing but trouble.
Yet, he cared for her safety and wellbeing more than himself. Although he couldn’t quite understand it, he knew it to be true.
But then she leaned into him, her response unguarded now, and it was freeing in a way he hadn’t expected. He felt her melt into the kiss, and beneath the press of their mouths, under the shared breath and warmth, Stan could sense the faintest shift in the way she held onto him. It wasn’t nervousness, nor was it uncertainty.
It was trust.
