She smiled and nodded. “Yes.”
The words hung between them in the steam, loaded with everything they couldn’t say. The ache had almost left, but he had a feeling it would take more than one lifetime for the way he wanted her to wear away.
Jack wanted to bury himself inside her until he forgot his own name. He wanted to hold her so close their heartbeats synchronized, and the line between his body and hers dissolved. He wanted her with the ceaseless hunger of a tide that devours the shore. And the wanting was so vast it terrified him more than every other emotion he’d ever suffered.
They had decades of damage to wade through, and it wouldn’t be easy, but the desire was there. He’d do whatever it took to keep her, his beautiful obsession.
She turned the taps, and time slowed. Silence rushed in, sudden and enormous, as the bathroom filled with the soft percussion of dripping.
Daisy stepped out of the shower first, the cool air raising goosebumps along her arms and spine. He grinned as she handed him a warm towel.
“What’s that smirk?”
He unraveled the towel and blotted his face. “Your bottom’s shaped like a heart.”
She laughed. “Were you checking out my bottom?”
His grin widened into something wolfish. “I was.”
“Naughty Jack. I think I may be in the process of creating a monster.”
She turned, purposely waggling her ass as she sauntered away, drying herself as she left the room.
“I think you’re curing one,” he murmured, following her into the bedroom.
Daisy stood stock still in the center of the room.
“What is it?” He followed her gaze to the balcony doors.
The sky blazed coral and tangerine. Pale gold clouds stretched across the heavens, bleeding into vermillion shades of red, and The Preserve darkened to a jagged black silhouette under the burning sky.
“It’s dawn,” she whispered, her voice a mix of regret or awe.
The bells tolled, deep and resonant, the sound rolling across the grounds like a wave breaking against stone. It vibrated through the floor and walls, through the marrow of his bones.
The continuous peal of that iron tongue proclaimed the conclusion of something momentous, marking this significant moment in time before the rest of his life would begin.
Jack’s hand tightened around hers as he stared out at the horizon, watching the darkness recede. He turned his attention to the woman beside him, taking in the prettier view, as a smile curved his lips and hope bloomed.
Dawn was here.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The Toll
“Does it fit?” Jack stepped behind her, meeting her gaze in the mirror.
Daisy stared at her reflection. A cross between a stranger and a friend looked back.
“You don’t like it,” he said, reading her expression as he pulled out his phone. “I’ll have another one sent?—”
“No, it’s fine.” It hung from her curves like a whispered confession. “I’m just not used to wearing clothes like this.”
Her fingers trembled as she touched the fabric. Not silk, not satin — something more intricate. Lace fine as frost on glass, woven into elaborate, swirling patterns that curled and unfurled like fiddleheads in spring.
The neckline plunged in a deep V that bared the hollow between her breasts. Delicate scalloped trim that softened the audacity of the cut.
She turned to view the back and her breath caught. A swooping V that exposed the full canvas of her spine. And a train that pooled on the floor in soft, ruffled waves of gossamer.
