"You miss him."
"Every day. He was my little brother but always trying to protect me. Said it was his job, even though I was older." I turn back to find Ruvan closer than before, his shadows warm around us both now. "But safety's an illusion, isn't it? We're all just hoping the violence passes us by."
"Not me. I court it."
"No, you control it. Different thing."
We're standing here in the golden light and he looks exhausted suddenly, like talking about loss added years to his face.
"Arthur would have told me I was being ridiculous, moving in with assassins. Would have listed all the ways this could go wrong." I almost laugh. "Then he would have helped me organize the kitchen anyway."
"He sounds practical."
"He was. Practical and protective and gone." I reach up without thinking, touch his face. His skin is warm under my fingers, rough with stubble he hasn't had time to shave. "You remind me of him sometimes. That same need to carry everything alone."
"I don't—"
"When's the last time you just existed? Without planning the next catastrophe or calculating threats?"
"I don't remember."
His hand comes up, covers mine. We're so close now I can see flecks of gold in his dark eyes, tiny points of light I've never noticed before.
"This is dangerous," he says quietly.
"Everything's dangerous. We live in a world where people kill for territory and wall space." My thumb traces his cheekbone without permission. "But this house has seven bathrooms and two kitchens and a library. Maybe we could just... be dangerous people who also have nice things."
"You make it sound simple."
"Most things are simpler than—"
He kisses me.
Not soft, not careful, not testing. His mouth finds mine like he's been thinking about this for days, weeks, since I first offered him tea while he planned my murder. His hands frame my face, then slide into my hair, and I can feel years of control shatter in the way he pulls me against him. I make this sound—surprise and want tangled together—and he swallows it, deepens the kiss until I can't remember why we weren't always doing this.
My back hits the wall and I don't remember moving. His hands are on my waist, lifting, and my legs wrap around him without consulting my brain first. The new angle makes everything intense, immediate, and I can feel how much he wants this pressed against me through all these ridiculous layers of fabric.
"Ruvan—" I gasp when he moves to my neck, finding that spot that makes everything go bright and shivery.
"Stop talking." His voice is rough against my skin. "For once, just stop talking."
So I do. I stop talking and just feel—his hands gripping my thighs, holding me up like I weigh nothing which is definitely not true but nice of him to pretend. The wall solidbehind me, him solid against me, and between us all this heat that's been building since that first portrait. My hands tangle in his hair, messing it completely, and he makes this sound when I pull him closer, desperate and hungry and real.
The shadows are everywhere, warm and alive, pushing us together. The golden afternoon light makes everything feel perfect and temporary and his mouth is doing things that make thinking very difficult so I just stop trying.
The warehouse feels like last year instead of yesterday. The portrait session might have been a dream. Everything before this moment blurs together and there's just his mouth and his hands and the way he holds me like I might disappear if he loosens his grip even slightly.
His hand slides up my thigh and I—
Bells.
Actual bells, ringing through the house with aggressive urgency.
We freeze. His mouth still on my neck, my legs still around his waist, both of us breathing like we've run up all those tower stairs twice. The bells keep ringing—the estate has an actual alarm system because of course it does.
"Boss!" Someone's running up the tower stairs. Definitely Finn. Of course it's Finn. "Boss, we have a situation!"
Ruvan pulls back, meets my eyes. His pupils are blown wide, his mouth swollen, his perfect hair completely destroyed. He looks wrecked. I probably look worse. Is my dress torn? Feels torn. Where?
