“We’ll regret it.”
“Undoubtedly.”
“It will hurt when I leave.”
“Unbearably.”
“Then why…”
He kissed her.
The world seemed to tilt and fall away. It wasn’t a careful or polite kiss; it was everything they had denied themselves for years, had finally come to life. The press of his mouth against hers was fierce, unrestrained, the culmination of every stolen glance and silenced heartbeat. Clara gasped softly, then met him with equal urgency, her fingers curling into his shirt as though she might anchor herself to him.
She tasted of tea and winter air, of defiance and home. His hand slid into her hair, tangling in the soft strands, while the other traced the curve of her back, drawing her closer until there was no space left between them, no distance, no titles, no rules. Only them.
This, Gabriel thought dazedly, was what he had been missing all along. This exquisite conviction possessed him, and by it, the rest of his days were instantly cast into the shade.
When at last they broke apart, both were breathless. Clara’s lips were flushed, her eyes wide and dark with the kind of longing that made his pulse stutter.
“Well,” she said, her voice unsteady but threaded with reluctant humor. “That was... reckless.”
Gabriel managed a faint smile. “I prefer the term inevitable.”
He kissed her again, softer this time, savoring the way she melted against him, the little sound she made when he nipped at her lower lip.
"Gabriel," she gasped. "We're in the garden."
"So?"
"Anyone could see."
"Everyone's gone home. It's just us."
"Still…"
He kissed her neck first…slowly, deliberately, as though reacquainting himself with the idea of touch. His lips brushed that spot just beneath her ear, the one that had always undone her. Clara shivered, her breath catching in the cold air that suddenly felt too thin.
“One month, you said,” he murmured against her skin.
“Yes, but…oh.” Her protest dissolved into a breathless sound as his tongue traced a languid path along her throat. “That’s not fair.”
“Nothing about this is fair,” he said, voice low, threaded with hunger.
“Gabriel…”
“Say my name again.”
“Gabriel.”
“Again.”
“Gabriel,” she whispered, then again, softer, “Gabriel, Gabriel.” Each repetition was interrupted by a kiss…his temple, the rough line of his jaw, the faint scar on his cheek, the corner of his mouth.
He caught her face between his hands, eyes dark. “Is that enough?”
“Never enough.”
“You possess an insatiable desire.”
