Paul wraps his arms around me, crushing me against his chest. I cling to him, fingers fisting in his jacket, pulling him closer, closer, never close enough.
He smells like paint and coffee and something uniquely him. The scent floods my senses, makes my eyes sting with tears.
"Vivianne." My name on his lips sounds like a benediction. Like salvation. His voice is thick, rough with emotion. "God, I've missed you."
I pull back just enough to see his face. To drink in every detail like I'm dying of thirst and he's water.
My hands come up, cupping his cheeks. The stubble is rough against my palms. Real. Solid. Here.
"You're here." The words shake. "You're really here."
His eyes—even dulled by contacts—burn with an intensity that steals my breath. One hand tangles in my hair, cradling my head. The other wraps around my waist, pulling me flush against him.
His pulse pounds against my chest. Racing. Matching my own frantic rhythm.
"I'm here, ma chérie." The endearment breaks something inside me. "I'm here."
Our lips meet.
The kiss is fire. Desperation. Months of need concentrated into this single point of contact.
His mouth moves against mine—urgent, hungry, claiming. I open for him, and he deepens the kiss immediately. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, tasting, exploring, reclaiming territory that's always been his.
I pour everything into the kiss. All my fear. All my hope. All the love I've carried like a torch through these endless months.
Paul matches me. His hands are everywhere—in my hair, on my waist, sliding up my ribs. Not sexual. Just desperate to touch. To confirm I'm real.
A low moan escapes my throat. Paul answers with a growl that vibrates through his chest into mine. His grip tightens. The hand in my hair tilts my head back, changing the angle, somehow making the kiss even deeper.
I can't breathe. Don't want to breathe. Just want this. Him. Us.
When we finally break apart, we're both gasping. Panting. Paul rests his forehead against mine, and for a long moment, we just breathe each other's air.
"I'm getting you out of here." His voice is low. Fierce. Each word a vow. "Tomorrow. I promise. I won't let you stay in this godforsaken place any longer."
Tears prick the corners of my eyes. Relief. Joy. Love. All of it overwhelming.
"I love you." The words spill out. "I love you so much."
His thumb brushes across my cheek, wiping away a tear I didn't realize had fallen. "I love you more, ma chérie. And I always will."
"How?" The question comes out shaky. Uncertain. "How will you save me? My father—he's... and Prescott—they watch everything. Every door. Every window. Every?—"
"I have help." His hands frame my face, forcing me to meet his eyes. "You'll know when it's happening. But not tonight."
My pulse stutters. "Then why—" I pull back slightly. Confusion cutting through the relief. "Why are you here now? Why risk?—"
"I need to know something."
The shift in his tone sends a chill down my spine. The fierce lover becomes something else. Something focused. Determined.
Mission-driven.
"What?" My frown deepens.
"I need to know where your father keeps the Swan."
The words land like a slap. Physical. Stunning.
