I exhale, my control fraying in the presence of her steady gaze. “I should have stopped her.”
For a moment, silence stretches between us, heavy with all the things I cannot say. That I wanted to tear Simone’s hand from my arm, that I wanted to tell the entire glittering room that Tara mattered more than any title or jewel. That I wanted to walk away with her,onlyher.
But I say none of it.
Instead, I incline my head—the Count, the diplomat, the man who must always choose restraint, and centuries of de Valois men speak through me when I say, “Good evening, Mademoiselle Gayarre.”
I walk away, my heart heavy, and talk to acquaintances about things I don’t care about.
Giselle is perky and smiling, and I nod, ask polite questions about the Carriera. All the while I lookaround forher, and a pang runs through me. She’s gone.
Where?
Suddenly, it feels unbearable to be without her.Un-fucking-bearable.
The corridors are quiet, the echo of voices fading into the marble as I make my way back toward the restoration wing—an excuse, I tell myself, to see the Carriera, though I know that’s a lie.
When I push the door open, the lab is semi-dark.
Low lamps glow over the long benches, tools neatly aligned, brushes in jars.
She is tucking her phone into her bag, her hair falling loose around her shoulders.
She looks up, startled when she sees me. “Gustave.”
The door softly clicks closed behind me. “I had to see you.”
For a heartbeat, we only stare at each other. She turns her back to me, her palms on the workbench.
I move behind her, closing the distance between us with deliberate slowness.
She doesn’t turn around, but I can feel her breath hitch, her body tense.
She knows what’s coming.
My fingers graze her hips, and she shivers, her ass pressing back into me.
I groan.
I lean in, my lips brushing the shell of her ear.
“Turn around,” I whisper, my voice low and rough.
She does, and Christ, her eyes are already dark with want.
Her lips part, rising to meet mine.
“Gustave—” she begins, but my mouth silences hers.
The first kiss is soft, almost chaste.
I deepen it languidly, my tongue sliding against hers, claiming her mouth like it’s mine. She tastes like mint and sin.
I can’t get enough.
My hands roam her body, gripping her waist, then her ass, pulling her flush against me. She gasps into my mouth, her hips grinding against my erection.
Her hand slides against my chest as if to push me away, but she doesn’t. Instead, she clutches the lapel of my jacket, pulling me closer, her body arching into mine.
