James let out a quiet chuckle, but it faded into a heavy sigh. Then he opened his arms.
I stepped into them after a second of silent hesitation, and pressed myself against the solid warmth of his body. His hold was firm, protective, his hands sliding down my back as if grounding me, but the unease still coiled in my stomach, a whisper of doubt I couldn't bury.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured near my ear, “I wish I could tell you everything, but there are simply things I’m not allowed to divulge.”
I nodded against his chest. “I’m trying my best to be respectful of that.”
He kissed my forehead, and breathed a soft, “I know.”
For a moment, we stood there, breathing each other in. His fingers curled into the fabric of my shirt, and his heartbeat was steady beneath my palm. Then, wordlessly, James took my hand and led me toward the bedroom.
The moment we stepped through the threshold, the mood between us changed. I barely had time to register the way his eyes darkened before his hands were on me—tugging me closer, tilting my chin up as his lips found mine.
It started slow, deliberate, his mouth moving against mine with aching precision, tasting, teasing, driving me crazy. Then, all at once, the restraint snapped. His kiss turned urgent, possessive, his hands sliding beneath my shirt, fingertips skimming my spine, pressing into the small of my back as if trying to mold me to him.
A soft gasp escaped me as he guided me onto the bed, his weight shifting over me, his body heat swallowing me whole. My hands roamed instinctively—tracing the hard lines of muscle beneath his shirt, gripping his shoulders as his mouth trailed lower, his breath hot against my jaw, then my throat.
"Emma," he murmured, his voice husky, raw with an emotion I couldn't name.
The sound of my name on his lips sent a shiver down my spine, and I arched into him, fingers fisting in his shirt. His lips found mine again, hungrier this time, his teeth grazing my bottom lip before deepening the kiss, tongues tangling, breaths coming faster.
I kissed him back with everything I had, trying to drown in the sensation of him—the way his hands explored, the way his body moved against mine, the way he knew exactly how to unravel me. But even as heat pooled low in my stomach, even as I surrendered to the moment, the doubt still lurked in the back of my mind, a shadow right out of reach.
I wanted to believe him. I needed to.
So I let him pull me under, let his touch and the rhythm of his heartbeat lull me into a daze dangerously close to surrender.
His hands roamed, mapping every inch of me with a slow, deliberate reverence leaving a trail of fire in its wake. My shirt was the first to go, then his, the heat of his bare skin against mine igniting something deep and desperate. His mouth followed, tracing the curve of my shoulder, the dip of my collarbone, before capturing my lips again in a kiss I never wanted to end.
I pulled him closer, nails pressing into his back as he shifted above me, his weight delicious and grounding. Every brush of his fingers, every whispered exhale against my throat unraveled me further, until I wasn’t sure where I ended and he began.
Gods, I wanted him. Every fiber of me ached to give in, to let him take me apart and put me back together again. But…not like this. Not while this sliver of doubt still whispered in the back of my mind.
Slowly, I pressed my hands against his chest, pushing him back, my breath unsteady. His gaze caught mine, dark and questioning, and for a moment, I hesitated. The words were foreign, unnatural, as I forced them past my lips. "I’m not ready yet."
His eyes softened instantly, understanding flickering through them. He didn’t argue, didn’t push—he just stayed there, steady and certain. "We have all the time in the world."
He kissed me then, slow and lingering, his lips both firm and unbearably gentle, as if telling me without words he wasn’t going anywhere. When he finally pulled back, he moved beside me, wrapping me in his arms. My head rested against his chest, right over the rapid pounding of his heart.
For a while, the intensity faded into a comfortable stillness, our bodies entwined in quiet warmth. Sleep crept in at the edges of my thoughts, but even as I lay there, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, my mind wouldn’t rest.
Had Julian healed me? I still had doubts, convinced James hadn’t told me everything. And even if he had spoken the truth… what had really happened that night?
The questions chased me into an uneasy sleep.
When I woke the next morning, the space beside me was empty, the sheets cold. I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my lids, and saw a note on the pillow, James’s handwriting unmistakable.
Emma,
I love you. I hope you never doubt me again. I’ll see you soon.
—James
I stared at the note, my heart sinking while a sharp pang of guilt twisted inside me. I had doubted him. The man who’d been by my side through everything, the one constant in my life, and I’d let my doubts creep in.
A wave of dread swept over me. What if my doubts cost me more than trust? What if I lost him? James was everything I had in this world, the one person I could count on. And now… I was terrified of losing him because of my own distrust.
I clutched the note in my hands, the words blurring as tears pricked at my eyes. I couldn’t lose him.
