Mary barely finishes the sentence, and I’m already making a beeline toward the stairs.
“Mr. Rourke, remember,” Mary calls behind me.
Without turning around, I mutter, “I’ll be gentle,” and mean it.
The rage I can’t turn off has nothing to do with Elowyn anymore.
It’s all me. If I’d been less of an asshole, she would’ve come to my bed last night.
From now on, she will.
This fucked-up distance, this mess, it ends today. I’ll be as honest and as compassionate as she’s been with me, and that’s a promise.
Elowyn could hate me for what I’ve done. She could try to run off and tell me she’ll never fuck, love, and eventually marry a killer.
It wouldn’t change a goddamn thing.
Mine.
On the second floor, I make a detour into my studio, heading straight for the locked antique dresser at the back. The two gold bangles and the silk ribbon I got for Elowyn are in my grip within seconds, then I’m out.
What I’m about to do isn’t a punishment like I intended back then.
This is me, binding us together, the only way I know how.
Through touch.
The door to the gallery opens with a mutedwhoosh. The room answers with silence.
Except it isn’t really silent when Elowyn’s presence fills every corner of the gallery. She’s welcoming me inside, even while she’s asleep on the pedestal, curled into herself.
The sight of her hits me square in the chest.
How could it not?
Morning light spills across her small frame, dust motes drifting lazily around her. Thick lashes rest against flushedcheeks. Her hair is a mess of dirty blonde locks, a few of them slipping over the edge of the pedestal.
Her lips are lightly parted, an invitation I’ll accept soon. After I confess everything, I’ll strip the silk robe she’s wearing and kiss her hard on the lips. From her mouth, I’ll move to her neck, her breasts, that sweet valley between her thighs.
With each step I take, the pressure on my lungs intensifies. The lust fades as remorse lashes in, harder than it did ten minutes ago.
It’s like I’m being crushed under the weight of my regret.
What was I thinking, hurting this angel?
You weren’t. But you’ll fix this mess. You’ll make sure to spend the rest of your life making up for the past decade.
“Elowyn,” I whisper from my place by the pedestal. “Hey.”
Still as a statue.
Heart in my throat, I crouch down, place the bangles on the floor, then tuck the ribbon into my jeans.
“Little moon.” With one hand, I cup her cheek. The other, I stroke her hair. Soft, she’s so soft everywhere. “Time to wake up.”
Unable to resist, I press my lips to hers. Only then does she stir.
Gray, soulful eyes lock onto mine. Hope flickers first, then confusion, and finally suspicion tightens her gaze. “Duncan.”
