And at the centre of it all, the single truth I could no longer keep buried.
I cupped his face in my hands, forcing myself to meet his gaze.Arthur’s eyes shimmered in the half-light, filled with worry and tenderness.
“I love you,” I whispered, my voice breaking.“God help me, Arthur, I love you.”
For a heartbeat, he only stared.Then a tear slipped down his cheek, catching the light as it fell.
His lips trembled.“I love you too.”
The music swelled around us, the room spinning, the crowd oblivious.I bent my forehead to his, closing my eyes, clinging to him like he was the only solid thing left in a world gone to ash.
ChapterEighteen
Arthur
We burst into Eddie’s flat as if we’d been chased — breathless, laughing, stumbling over each other’s feet.I shoved the door closed with my hip, and Bryce immediately pressed me against it, kissing me like he’d been starving all night.His collar was loosened, tie long gone, and now it was hot, messy, and perfect.
My heart was still racing from the music, the gin, and the neon.From hearing him say the words I never thought I’d hear:I love you.
My chest still ached from it, full to bursting.
Bryce pulled back, panting, his eyes wild.“You nearly killed me out there, the way you danced.”
I laughed, wrapping my arms around his neck, pressing my body flush against his.“You make me reckless, Bryce.Tonight, all I wanted was to drag you into a dark corner and—”
His hand slid down my back, resting just above my arse.“Tell me.”
“I wanted to take you right there,” I whispered, grazing his ear with my teeth.“Up against the wall, my hand down your trousers, making you fall apart while everyone watched.”
Bryce groaned, clutching me tighter.“God, Arthur.You’re impossible.”
“Impossible and all yours,” I shot back, nipping his lip before pulling him toward the bedroom.
We staggered through the flat, shedding clothes and dignity with every step.My shoes clattered across the floor; he kicked his away.We bumped into Eddie’s wobbly side table, knocking a stack of scripts to the ground, laughing too hard to stop and pick them up.
By the time we reached the bedroom door, we were tangled in each other, kissing like it was our last chance.Bryce shoved the door open and fell backward onto the bed, collapsing in a graceless heap.He laughed — a sound so foreign from the polished diplomat he was by day that it undid me completely.
“Ambassador Lewis,” I teased, tugging at the hem of my shirt.“You’re positively indecent.”
“Then do something about it,” he challenged, his smile sharp, and his eyes dark with hunger.
I yanked my shirt over my head, not caring where it landed.His eyes widened, then darkened further as he drank me in.
“Christ,” he whispered.“You’re so fucking beautiful.”
I climbed onto the bed, straddling his hips, bracing my hands on either side of his head.The kiss we shared then was frantic, greedy, a clash of tongues and teeth.Every gasp, every moan, felt like proof that this — whatever we had found — was absolutely real.
When I pulled back, my lips swollen, I pressed my forehead to his.“I love you, Bryce.More than anyone.More than I thought I could.And I’m going to show you.”
His hands slid up my chest, palms flat against the muscle, thumbs tracing the ridges of my ribs.“Then show me,” he said, his voice rough.
I kissed him hard, then tugged at his belt, dragging it free with a snap.He lifted his hips so I could pull his trousers away, baring him inch by inch.He was glorious.Not delicate — never delicate — but sculpted and strong, all lean muscle and broad planes.His chest was wide and defined, his stomach taut, his thighs powerful.
“Look at you,” I breathed, running my hands over him, committing him to memory.
Words abandoned him, scattered like frightened birds.
I leaned closer, my mouth grazing his ear, my breath hot against his skin.“I want to taste you.To feel your body quake beneath my hands.To make you forget who you are—except here, with me.”
