Her breathing evens out after about twenty minutes.
I feel the exact moment she falls asleep, the way her body goes heavy against mine, the subtle change in the rhythm of her breath against my neck. Her hand is still fisted in my shirt, as though even unconscious, she's holding on.
I should move her. Ease her onto the mattress, cover her with the duvet, leave her to sleep properly.
Instead, I shift us slightly, making sure she's comfortable, and let myself have this. Her weight against me. Her warmth. The citrus scent of her hair mixed the softer perfume that still clings to her skin.
I stare into the dark and try to process what the fuck just happened.
She kissed me.
Not because I forced her or because she was playing a role. She kissed me because shewantedto, even if it was just in the moment.
Equal parts satisfaction and something I don't have a name for swell in my chest.
I've had women before. Plenty of them. Beautiful, willing, uncomplicated. Transactions, basically, pleasure exchanged for discretion, no strings, no expectations.
This isn't that.
Florrie isn't that.
She's complicated in ways I'm only beginning to understand. Soft but stubborn. Terrified but brave enough to accept the unknown. Smart enough to recognize she's trapped but still taking whatever control she can seize.
Like kissing me. Taking that choice for herself instead of waiting for me to take it from her.
I didn't expect that.
I shift my gaze down to her. She's beautiful, I noticed that immediately, even in the chaos of the warehouse. But up close, with her defenses down and her features relaxed in sleep, it's even more apparent.
Strong bone structure. Dark lashes against her cheeks. Full lips slightly parted.
My chest tightens.
I did this to her. Turned her life inside out. Trapped her in a situation she never asked for.
And I'd do it again without hesitation if it meant saving her life.
The moment I saw her standing in that warehouse, something clicked into place. Like a piece I didn't know was missing suddenly appeared exactly where it needed to be.
The mandate gave me justification. A reason to claim her that my family would understand, that Valentin would accept as truth.
But if I'm honest with myself, and I try to be…at least in the privacy of my own head, the mandate isn't why I want her.
I want her because she looked at me with fear in her eyes and kissed me anyway.
I want her because when I walked into this room and found her crying, my first instinct wasn't to leave her alone to process. It was to fix it. To take away whatever was causing her pain, even though I'm the primary source of it.
I want her because she fits against me like she was made to be here.
It’s unnerving, but what terrifies me is how much I want this to work. Want us to work.
I've spent eight years building an empire on cold calculation and careful transactions. Emotion is a weakness I can't afford. Attachment is a liability.
And yet.
Her hand twitches against my chest, and I cover it with mine, feeling how small her fingers are compared to mine. How fragile she is, really. How easy it would be for this world,myworld, to break her.
I won't let that happen.
