"No," I lie, because the physical pain faded years ago. It's the memories attached to it that still burn.
"Liar," she says softly, seeing through me yet again.
And then she's rising on her tiptoes, one hand bracing against my chest for balance, and her lips are pressing against my scar, a featherlight touch that starts at my jaw and moves upward, following the path of damaged tissue to my temple.
I freeze, unable to move, to breathe, to think. No one has ever touched my scar with such tenderness, such acceptance. It undoes me in ways violence never could.
When she starts to pull away, I catch her, one hand at her waist, the other cupping the back of her neck. Our eyes meet, and in hers I see the same hunger that's consuming me.
"Jade," I whisper, her name a question and a warning rolled into one.
Her answer is to press her lips to mine.
The kiss starts gentle, tentative, as if she's unsure of her welcome. But there's nothing tentative about the way mybody responds. Heat floods through me, breaking the last chains of my restraint. My arms wrap around her fully, lifting her slightly as I deepen the kiss, pouring weeks of longing into it.
She makes a small sound of surprise that melts into a sigh, her arms winding around my neck, her body molding against mine. She tastes like sunshine and secrets, her mouth both yielding and demanding at once.
I lose track of time, of place, of everything except the feel of her in my arms, the taste of her on my tongue, the soft sounds she makes as I explore her mouth. A distant part of my mind registers that this is crossing every professional line, breaking every rule I've lived by, potentially betraying the trust of the two men I consider brothers.
But for once in my life, I don't care about rules or consequences. For this stolen moment in a glass house filled with butterflies, I allow myself to want, to take, to feel.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. I keep her close, unwilling to let this moment end, to return to reality where I'm just her bodyguard and she's just my client.
"I shouldn't have done that," she whispers, even as her fingers thread through my hair, belying her words.
"No," I agree, my voice rough. "I shouldn't have either."
Her eyes search mine. "Do youregret it?"
The question catches me off-guard with its directness. I consider lying, saying yes, creating distance that would be safer for both of us. Instead, I give her the truth she deserves.
"No," I say simply. "I don't regret it. But I should."
A small smile curves her lips. "That's not a very reassuring answer."
"I'm not a very reassuring man."
Her smile widens slightly. "No, you're not. You're dangerous and complicated and probably terrible for me."
I should release her, step back, restore professional boundaries. Instead, my arms tighten around her waist. "And yet you kissed me anyway."
"I did," she acknowledges.
"What are we doing, Jade?" I ask quietly.
She shakes her head, copper hair catching the fading light. "I don't know. Breaking all the rules, apparently."
An announcement echoes through the butterfly house, informing visitors that the facility will close in five minutes. Reality intrudes, reminding us of the world waiting outside this glass sanctuary.
Reluctantly, I release her, stepping back to a more appropriate distance. But something has fundamentally changed between us, a bridge crossed that we can't return from.
"We should go," I say. "Mateo will be looking for us."
She nods, turns and walks toward the exit, leaving me standing amid fluttering wings and fading light, the taste of her still on my lips and the weight of tomorrow's choices heavy on my shoulders.
25
JADE
