“Stop.” Her voice is soft, trembling. “Don’t do this unless you mean it.”
“I mean it.”
“I don’t want an apology soaked in wine.”
“How do you want it, baby? I’ll give it to you any way you want it.”
“I…you need to go to your room.” She points to her door with a trembling hand.
“You know what I’ve realized since I came to Chamonix? It’s always been you. When I was with other women, I kept looking for something to make me feel alive. But it wasn’t them; it was you.”
She looks down. “This is cruel, Ransom. You were withher. In this house. You slept with her.”
“No.” I step closer. “I didn’t.”
She lifts her chin, eyes sharp with disbelief. I walk closer to her.
“Not once,” I say. “Not after I saw you. I couldn’t. She touched me, and I—Em, it felt wrong. Like I was betraying something I hadn’t even let myself admit was real.”
She swallows.
I reach out. Brush a strand of hair from her cheek. Her skin warms beneath my fingers.
“I never stopped wanting you,” I whisper.
“You stopped acting like it.”
“I know. So did you.”
“I was protecting myself.”
“Ditto.”
We stand like that. Barely a breath apart.
“You should go to your room,” she repeats, but her voice lacks conviction.
“I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
She doesn’t move.
“Just sleep.” I know I sound pathetic, desperate,but I don’t care. I don’t want to hide from Ember. I want her to see me. Strong. Weak. Myself. Real. “Please.”
Another long moment. And then—because we’re us, and because whatever this thing is between us refuses to die—she touches my face.
Her fingers hover over the bruise Aksel gave me, which is now changing color. “Still hurts?”
“No. Not that one.”
I don’t know who kisses whom.
One second we’re standing, the next we’re tangled together, mouths meeting in a rush of heat and memory and raw want. Her fingers curl into my hair. My hands settle on her waist. We kiss like we’re drowning in it—like if we stop, the spell will break.
When we part, we’re both breathing hard.
“I can’t…” she says, stepping away. “No…I can’t.”
“I know.”
