Her face is still pressed into the curve of my neck, her breath coming in shallow little puffs against my skin. The trembling has subsided somewhat, a fine vibration running through her like a plucked string that can’t quite settle.
“They’re gone,” I murmur against her hair. “It’s just us. You’re safe.”
I stifle my surprise when a muffled laugh escapes her. She’s given no evidence of being aware of her surroundings since I carried her onto the boat.
“Phoenix?”
“I know I’m safe.” Her voice is barely audible as she burrows closer. “That’s why I can’t let go.”
Christ.
I tighten my arms around her, pulling her closer even though there’s no closer to go. Her body molds against mine, all sharp angles and delicate bones. Equally fierce and fragile.
“You don’t have to let go.”
“Good.” Her fingers twist deeper into my shirt, gathering fistfuls of the damp fabric. “Not planning on it.”
We sit like that for a while. The boat rocks gently beneath us, the engine thrumming a low, steady rhythm that vibrates through the hull. Somewhere above, I can hear muffled voices. Mason and Atticus, probably, keeping watch while Judah steers us home.
Phoenix’s breathing gradually steadies. The tension bleeds out of her shoulders by increments. Her death grip on my shirt loosens just enough that I can feel the individual press of her fingers rather than one continuous clutch.
Then she shifts.
She lifts her head from my shoulder so she can look at me properly for the first time since I found her stumbling through the darkness at the salvage yard.
The cabin light is shit. Just a single bare bulb throwing weak yellow illumination across everything. But it’s enough to see the bruise spreading across her cheekbone, the raw red rings circling her wrists where the rope bit deep.
Enough that I would go back and strangle Aaron with my bare hands if I could.
“Dom.”
“Yeah?”
She doesn’t answer, just cocks her head to the side as she continues to study me.
Then her hands release my shirt and travel upward, palms sliding across my chest, over my shoulders, up the sides of my neck. Her fingers thread into my hair and she grips hard enough to tilt my head back.
Then she kisses me.
Her mouth meets mine with a deliberate force that sends electricity crackling down my spine. As her lips part, I taste saltfrom her dried tears and something underneath that’s purelyher, sweet and sharp like citrus peel doused in sweet vanilla.
I should stop this.
The thought surfaces through the haze descending over my brain, bobbing like a buoy in rough seas. She’s been through hell tonight. She’s vulnerable and scared and running on fumes. Whatever’s happening here—whatever she thinks she wants—isn’t something I should be taking advantage of.
But then she makes this sound.
A small, desperate noise in the back of her throat that hits me somewhere south of my sternum and short-circuits every noble intention I’ve ever had.
My hands move without conscious permission. One slides up her back, pressing between her shoulder blades to draw her closer. The other cups the unbruised side of her face, thumb tracing the line of her jaw, fingers threading into the tangled mess of her copper hair.
She sighs against my mouth and deepens the kiss.
Her tongue traces the seam of my lips, requesting entry. I grant it without hesitation. She tastes like exhaustion and desperation and underneath all of it, underneath the fear and the trauma and the hours of captivity, she tastes likefire.
This woman is going to destroy me.
The realization crystallizes somewhere in the part of my brain still capable of rational thought. Phoenix Riviera, with her copper hair and amber eyes and the kind of damage that calls to every protective instinct I possess, is going to tear me apart from the inside out.
