Tension.
Will.
She met him there. In the storm.
And she never flinched.
God, he adored her for that.
His fingers dipped under the hem of her shirt, skimming warm skin with the barest touch—an anchor. A truth.
The tension between them didn’t break.
It deepened.
Something curled in the silence, thick with meaning.
His hand slid to her hip, slow and sure, fingers pressing into her like he needed proof that she was real.
That she was his to touch.
And when she didn’t pull away, he gripped tighter.
A quiet claim.
His lips brushed her temple—soft, hesitant. Testing.
Arden’s breath caught.
Gideon nuzzled closer, the bridge of his nose skimming down her cheek. His stubble scraped lightly. Her breath hitched.
“You drive me insane.”
A soft smile touched her lips. “Feeling’s mutual.”
Her fingers stayed curled in his shirt. She could feel every inch of him, even through the fabric.
His hand skimmed higher, not in haste, but in reverence.
She was warmth and power. All soft skin and sharp edges.
And he wanted to know every part of her.
She smoothed her palms down the front of his shirt, slow and deliberate, not pulling away. Not pushing, either. Committing the moment to memory.
As if she knew how rare it might be.
Gideon’s breath deepened. Deliberate. As if he could rein it in.
He couldn’t.
She felt the shift before he made it.
The firmer press of his hands.
The tension in his jaw.
The parting of his lips like he was going to speak.
