I nodded. Then shook my head. Then nodded again.
He smiled faintly. "Which one?"
"All of them," I said helplessly.
He chuckled under his breath, then sobered when he saw my hands trembling. I swallowed hard. "My mind… my body…" I whispered, cheeks burning. "They feel strange. Different. Ever since this morning. Ever since your kiss." His breath caught. "And I don't know what it means. I've never—" My voice cracked. "I've never wanted anything like this. Anyone like this."
Gideon took a slow step toward me, then another. He stopped close enough that I felt his warmth brush against my skin. "You don't owe me anything," he said softly. "Not ever."
"I know." And I did. Deep down, I truly did. And this wasn't about paying back or anything like that; this was about whatIwanted. "But I want…" My voice trembled again as I was unable to finish the sentence. I swallowed hard and pulled up all my courage. "I want to be yours. Completely. Not because I have to. Not because I'm desperate. Not because I'm trying to pay you back." I lifted my hand to his chest, feeling the solid heat of him beneath my palm. "But because I love you. Because I trust you. Because I want this."
His breath left him in a hard, shaky exhale. "Inga," he murmured, "you have no idea what you're doing to me."
I stepped closer, closing the last inch between us. "Tell me," I whispered. "Tell me what you did today."
He cupped my cheek, thumb brushing lightly against my skin. "I fast-tracked the marriage forms," he said. "Housing, too. Everything we need."
My throat tightened. "We're going to be married," I whispered. "Soon."
He nodded, eyes turning molten. "If you still want me."
My voice was small and shy but certain. "I want you tonight, Gideon, and I'll want you tomorrow. And the day after that. And for as long as the world lets me keep you."
He sucked in a breath like the words physically hit him. "Inga…" he whispered.
I rose onto my toes, slid my hand around the back of his neck, and pulled him down into a kiss that shook both of us. Heat surged between us, warm and deep and infinite. His arms came around me, lifting me effortlessly, holding me as if I were something precious and beloved.
I buried my face in his neck and breathed him in. "Take me to bed," I whispered.
He froze only for a heartbeat before he carried me toward the bedroom, his forehead pressed to mine, his breath uneven.
"I'll be careful," he promised.
"I know," I whispered. "That's why I want you."
He set me down with care, so the bed frame barely creaked, and knelt to level his gaze with mine. I tried to remember how to breathe. His hands, warm and broad, bracketed my face like I was something rare. I wanted to make a joke, to laugh off the nervous quake in my legs, but I couldn't find any words.
Not that he gave me time to search. Gideon kissed me with something between prayer and hunger, soft, then firm, his mouth coaxing mine open, our breaths mingling until my lungs ached in a new, delicious way. No one had ever touched me like this before, not even in dreams. Every caress was a new word in a language I'd never learned.
His fingers found my hair, traced the nape of my neck, and moved to unclasp the row of pearl buttons on my blouse. He fumbled the top one, cursed softly, and that small clumsiness made him suddenly, heartbreakingly real. My heart rattled in my chest, trying to beat free.
"It's okay," I whispered. "You don't have to be so careful." But I wanted him to be.
He shook his head with a little smile. "You deserve careful," he replied hoarsely.
Then he undressed me, one patient motion after another: my blouse, untucked and slid from my shoulders; the thin chemise, up over my head; the new skirt, unzipped anddropped. He tipped his head, as if viewing a painting he'd studied and never entirely figured out. His hands hovered at my hips, then rested there, gentle as feathers.
"You're perfect," he whispered, and I knew he believed it, even if I didn't.
He kissed me again, harder this time, and I arched into him, every nerve awake. When his mouth wandered down, along my throat, and over the hinge of my shoulder, I shivered all over, a glitchy circuit of need I didn't know how to fix. His breath was everywhere, in my hair, on my skin, and my entire body felt like it was listening for the next place he'd go.
He cupped my breast, his thumb moving in a soft, slow circle over the tip, and even that felt like a miracle, like something I wasn't allowed to want. I gasped despite myself. He just grinned into my skin and mapped a line lower, over my ribs, tracing the sharp edge of hunger that war had left behind.
He kissed my belly, lingered above the scar nobody saw, and I almost wept from being seen.
"Inga," he murmured, drawing out the name like it was the answer to some riddle, "tell me what you want."
I thought I'd choke on the honesty. "You," I mumbled, "just you."
