We stayed.
We did what needed to be done without complaint or negotiation.
When she coughed lightly in her sleep, I tightened my arm around her just enough to steady her without waking her fully. She settled again almost immediately, her hand remaining at my neck as though she feared I might disappear if she let go.
A few months ago, I would have shifted away from that kind of contact. I would have told myself it was unnecessary, distracting, a weakness that dulled the edge I relied on. Touch had been leverage, control, appetite — not something quiet and unguarded like this.
Now I let it stay.
I let myself sink back into the mattress, my breathing falling in time with hers. The house was quiet, Rowan likely downstairs already and Alec pretending not to hover while he prepared something unnecessarily complicated in the kitchen.
For once, there was no urgency pressing against my ribs. No immediate threat to neutralise. No perimeter to secure.
Just this.
The slow rise and fall of her chest.
The faint weight of her hand against my skin.
The knowledge that what we were building did not require noise to prove its strength.
Actions always spoke louder than words.
And I intended to keep speaking.
Chapter 58
Alec
Her eyes twinkled with mischief as I checked her throat. The angry red had faded, the swelling reduced back to a healthy pink. Whatever had been dragging her down had finally loosened its grip, leaving her warm and alert beneath my hands.
I straightened slowly, deliberately not stepping back far enough to give her space. Her pulse jumped beneath my fingers where they still rested lightly at her jaw, and the subtle hitch of her breath didn’t go unnoticed. She knew exactly what she was doing. That look wasn’t accidental—it was an invitation.
Illness had kept us restrained longer than any of us liked. Necessary, yes. But restraint always sharpened the appetite.
“Nice and healthy,” I murmured, letting the pad of my thumb graze across her lower lip before I pulled away.
Her eyes dimmed instantly, disappointment flickering across her face before she caught herself. Then she bit her lip—slow, thoughtful, entirely calculated.
Oh, she wanted to provoke me.
I took a step back, folding my arms loosely as I watched her shift on the edge of the bed. The room still smelled faintly of ginger tea and clean sheets, sunlight filtering through half-drawn curtains and settling warmly across her skin. She looked softer after being sick. Quieter. But there was an edge beneath it—a restlessness that hadn’t dulled with fatigue.
Pregnant or not, she hadn’t lost that spark. If anything, it had intensified.
She tilted her head, studying me the way she did when she was weighing her chances. Not asking outright. Never asking. She preferred to test the boundaries, to see which line I’d cross first.
The others were out. Rowan busy. Nick gone longer than he’d said he would be.
That left me.
It would have been polite to wait. Sensible, even. But politeness had never been my strong suit, and she didn’t need protecting from herself. Not like this. Not when she was watching me with that faint smile, eyes bright and knowing.
“You should still be resting,” I said lightly, though there was no heat behind the words.
“I am,” she replied, far too quickly.
I huffed a quiet laugh and moved closer again, lowering myself until we were eye level. Close enough that she could feel the shift in the air between us, the tension tightening like a drawn wire.
