Page 49 of Love Is A Draw
Victor’s fists clenched against his thighs. What he wanted to do—to say—made his blood surge, his breath rough in his chest. He wanted to follow her, take her hand, pull her into the shadows, andkissher like a man who hadn’t forgotten her sweetness on his tongue since those stolen moments in the hackney and the balloon.
He wanted to press her against the wall and feel her smile break against his mouth. He wanted to bury his hands in her hair and her skirts and whispereverything.But he didn’t.
Because she was Dmitry’s granddaughter, and he owed the man—the legend—more than this.
Victor stood, pacing the room like the fire still burned in his chest. She had opened herself to him—quietly, fiercely—and now his entire body ached with how much he couldn’t have.
He pressed a hand to the mantel. “You don’t touch a woman like that,” he muttered. “Not unless you’re prepared to give her everything.”
And oh, how he wanted to.
But if he lost in the morrow, he couldn’t… and Gail deserved more thanperhaps. She deservedforever.
He glanced at the chessboards and shook his head. Fave Pearler had said he could stay as long as he liked, even offered him a room—but all Victor needed was a chess board. And Gail.
So he’d stood in the night, but it was no match to his thoughts, unsure how long it had been when he heard the soft pad of feet—bare, unhurried—and turned. Gail stood in the doorway, her hair unbound, the shadows of the hall trailing behind her. She must have removed her shoes. There was something disarming about her simplicity—like a queen who’d discarded her crown and walked barefoot into battle.
“I couldn’t sleep now anyhow,” she said softly.
Victor’s throat dried. “That makes two of us.”
She stepped inside, the hem of her robe brushing the rug. “You’re angry.”
He laughed, short and bitter. “No. I’m—” He stopped. Then forced out, “Yes.”
She tilted her head. “At me?”
“No. In the world. At Dmitry. At myself.” He looked away. “And at you. Because you’re perfect, and I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.”
Silence crackled between them.
Gail didn’t flinch. She walked toward him, slow and measured, until they were barely a breath apart. “So why haven’t you kissed me tonight?”
His jaw tightened. “Because you’re a better player than me. You’re brilliant.” He swallowed. “And because I’d never stop.”
Her smile, barely there, shattered him. “And all these things are bad?”
“Yes.” He exhaled, ragged. “You deserve more than this. Than me. Than a man with no future, no name that means anything.”
“I don’t care about your name,” she whispered.
“But I do. You’re Dmitry’s legacy. You’re the child he protected. A woman like you shouldn’t beburdenedby marriage.”
She froze. “You think marriage is a burden?”
“No. I thinkyoushouldn’t be trapped, not by expectations, or society, or even my love. You should be free to play. To win. To choose.”
“Your love?” Her eyes flashed as if she’d already thought five moves ahead. “And what if I choose it? Build a home with you? A family?”
Victor stilled.
She closed the distance to him, her breath warm at his jaw. “What if I want four children? Maybe more. What if I want to play chess with them on rainy mornings and let them lose badly to their father in the afternoons?”
His heart stopped.
“I don’t need the world to know I’m good at chess, Victor. If they give me praise, it’s to tell me nothing I don’t already know.” Her voice dropped. “Chess is in my heart. And in my blood. But none of that means anything if I don’t pass it on. You know, that’s why I reckon he sent us both away.”
Victor looked down at her. She was everything he had tried not to want. Everything he had fought to protect. “I love you,” he said hoarsely. “But I can’t ruin you.”
