He didn’t.
She licked her lips.
His eyes tracked the movement like a man who’d already lost the battle.
“Arden.”
Her name was a rasp. A confession. A warning.
The space between them frayed—held together by a thread.
Her breath caught. Her chest rose and fell against his. His pupils darkened with hunger, restraint bleeding out of him with every second.
She tightened her grip on his shirt.
Don’t pull away. Don’t stop.
His hands curved around her hips, steady, claiming.
One motion.
That’s all it took.
With precision and intent,he lifted her onto the counter.
The marble was cold against her thighs through the leather, but she barely noticed.
His lips moved over hers with aching precision—hungry, yes, but restrained. As if savoring every taste. As if afraid of going too far.
The rose slid from the counter, crimson petals scattering across the tile like silent witnesses.
Arden exhaled sharply. Her legs parted enough for him to step between them.
He was close now. So damn close.
“Gideon—”
Her voice barely made it past her lips before he silenced it.
Not with a word.
With his mouth.
The kiss wasn’t soft. Wasn’t careful.
It was a collision.
A breaking point.
Her hands pulled him closer like she needed him to burn everything else away. Every thought. Every fear. Every hesitation.
And he let her.
Let her take. Let her lead. Let her have him.
His fingers slid into her hair, tilting her head back, deepening the kiss, taking control as she met him with equal force.
She tasted like slow heat and quiet defiance.
