I inhale sharply. “Last night, at some point, you told me to be careful. Do you remember why?”
“‘Course I do,” he answers. “Told you to be careful with my heart.” He clears his throat, thumb coming up to trace my jawline. Heat follows his touch, settling low in my body.
“That still a rule?” I ask.
“A rule only for you.”
“Why?” I ask, eyes locked with his. Time has stopped. Only music, movement, and this man remain.
“Because you’re the only one I’m trusting with it.”
Trust. Two days ago, I would’ve said I don’t trust anyone. But now, staring into the eyes of this stranger—my husband—I can’t deny it.
Our mouths meet again, slow and heated. My lips parting, an invitation. He sweeps into me like he already owns me, and my self-control unravels a little more.
I remember enough now to know last night was hot, impetuous, spontaneous. But this feels intentional, decided, like we’re choosing each other in the full knowledge of what that choice means.
We break, breathing hard, hands exploring, eyes simmering.
“I much prefer this sober,” he says, his hands squeezing my hips, drawing me hard against him now. I can feel his length, and I gasp. No wonder I was sore this morning.
“Me, too. Want to remember everything about this.”
“Don’t have to remember if we stick together.”
His words land hard.
God, I want him. I want this. But how do we make this work?
I don’t know.
But I do know one thing. “I trust you,” I whisper. The words sound reckless… and right.
His hand shifts against my side, a slight movement, but it does something.
Another flicker of memory washes over me. My back against a wall. His breath on my throat. My fingers curling into his shirt.
“I wanted you last night,” I admit, head spinning. “In the alleyway, I begged.”
“You did.” His voice is dark and dangerous. “In the hotel room, too.”
I close my eyes, letting the memories come, allowing them to move through me. They were never that far beneath the surface. Just buried beneath fear and uncertainty and the guilt of dragging him into this with me. Of needing him more than I’m willing to admit.
“Your mouth,” I whisper. “Your fingers…” Heat floods my body, need throbbing low. “You’re...” I don’t say the last part because he knows.
“All of that,” he says, snagging my finger and raising my gaze until our eyes lock. “And we said yes. Because some part of you wanted it, and some part of me wanted it, too. Now, we figure out why.”
His mouth is inches from mine again. We’re sharing the same heat and breath. And nothing feels wrong about this.
“But I’m in WITSEC, and the person I’m hiding from… He broke into my house. I’m almost certain. Once I make the call, once I let the U.S. Marshals know, they won’t let me stay.”
I should be on the phone with them right now. I should be moving, changing my name, embarking on a new life somewhere else.
That’s what I should be doing. Not falling for the stranger I married last night.
“What you’ve been doing isn’t working,” he says firmly. “Maybe it’s time to try something else. Something less lonely.”
Another memory hits. “We were here,” I whisper. “Just like this in the hotel hallway before you let us back into the room.”
