Chapter 189

Chapter 189
Elena

He lifted our joined hands, turning mine over in his grip with that careful precision he brought to everything, and pressed a kiss to my palm that sent electricity racing up my arm. His lips were warm, softer than I'd imagined during all those nights I'd lain awake thinking about this.

"Me too," he said against my skin, and I felt his lips move with the words. "Whatever you're feeling, however deep it goes—I'm right there with you. I've been there for longer than I should probably admit."

The confession should have terrified me. Instead, I felt something settle into place in my chest, some piece of myself that had been floating loose finally finding its proper home. This was right. This was what I'd been searching for without knowing it.

I shifted in my chair, trying for a lighter tone even as my heart threatened to pound out of my chest. "You know, I broke the rules today." I watched his pupils dilate even in the dim light. "This morning, in the car—I initiated that kiss. And earlier, I sat on your lap without asking permission first." I paused, feeling heat creep up my neck. "According to our established protocols, that means I should probably be punished for overstepping."

I watched the careful control slip just a fraction before he reassembled it. "What kind of punishment did you have in mind?"

The question sent a shiver through me that had nothing to do with the evening air. "That's for you to decide," I said, holding his gaze even as my cheeks heated. "You're the one who makes the rules. I'm just... requesting that you enforce them."

For a long moment he just looked at me, and I could see the war playing out behind his eyes. Then, slowly, deliberately, he patted his thigh once.

"Come here."

The command in his voice did something to me, something that made my knees weak and my breath catch. But I obeyed, positioning myself across his lap as he'd indicated. The position was vulnerable, exposing, and I felt my breath catch as his hand came to rest on the small of my back, warm even through the thin silk.

"This is what you want?" he asked, his voice low and careful. "You're absolutely sure?"

"Yes," I managed, and my voice came out smaller than I'd intended.

His hand moved, delivering several light taps through the silk—more symbolic than painful, more about trust than punishment. But the intimacy of it, the vulnerability required to let him do this, made my eyes sting with unexpected tears.

When it was over, I turned in his lap, kneeling up so I could loop my arms around his neck. His hands came to rest on my waist, and I could feel the tremor running through them that matched the one in my own limbs. We were both shaking, I realized. Both terrified and exhilarated and teetering on the edge of something that would change everything.

I didn't let myself think. I just leaned in and kissed him.

Soft at first, tentative, giving him every opportunity to pull away if he wanted to. But instead his hands tightened on my waist and pulled me closer, and the kiss deepened into something that felt like falling and flying at the same time. His lips were warm and sure, and he tasted like the grapefruit juice he'd been making, tart and sweet and perfect.

I pressed closer, my fingers sliding into his hair, and felt him make a sound low in his throat that sent heat spiraling through me. This was nothing like kissing Maxime. This was everything. This was coming home to a place I didn't know I'd been searching for.

When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, he rested his forehead against mine and I could feel his heart racing against my chest where we were pressed together.

"Tomorrow," he said, his voice wrecked and wonderful. "I want to take you somewhere tomorrow. Somewhere special."

"Where?" I asked, still dizzy from the kiss, from the feeling of his hands on my waist and his breath on my lips.

"You'll like it," he promised, and there was something in his voice—anticipation, hope—that made my chest feel too small. "Trust me."

I did trust him. That was the problem and the solution and everything in between.

"I want to go to bed," I heard myself say, my voice coming out soft and drowsy as the adrenaline started to fade. "But I can't walk. My legs have completely forgotten how to function. You'll have to carry me."

His laugh was low and surprised and so full of affection that it made my chest ache. "You're absolutely ridiculous," he said, but he was already standing, lifting me with him like I weighed nothing. "You know that, right?"

"Maybe," I conceded, letting my head rest against his shoulder as he carried me through the apartment, breathing in that cedar scent that was becoming as familiar as my own. "But you're here anyway."

"I'm here anyway," he agreed quietly, and something in his tone made it sound like a promise, like a vow.

He shouldered open my bedroom door and crossed to set me carefully on the bed. I immediately burrowed under the covers, suddenly exhausted by the emotional weight of the day, by everything that had happened and everything that was still left unsaid.

"You're staying tonight, right?" The words came out before I could stop them, small and uncertain in a way I hated. "Please?"

I saw him hesitate, saw the conflict play across his features. Then he settled on the edge of the bed, and I felt the mattress dip under his weight.

"I'll be in the guest room," he said quietly, his hand finding mine under the covers. "If you need anything at all, just call for me. I'll hear you."

"Stay until I'm asleep," I insisted, tightening my grip on his hand, suddenly desperate for him not to leave just yet. "Please, Étienne. Just that. Just stay until I fall asleep."

He nodded, his thumb beginning to trace slow circles on the back of my hand in a rhythm that was already making my eyes heavy. "I can do that," he said softly. "I can absolutely do that."

I felt myself start to drift, felt the day's tensions finally begin to release their hold as his presence anchored me. His hand was warm in mine, solid and real, and I found myself thinking that this was what safety felt like.

The last thing I was aware of before sleep claimed me was the steady warmth of his hand in mine, the soft sound of his breathing in the quiet room, and the knowledge that for the first time in longer than I could remember, I was exactly where I wanted to be.