But I couldn't.
I pulled back, chest heaving. Grabbed her wandering hands.
"You don't want me?" she asked softly, her bottom lip pushing out in a pout that was either genuine or the most convincing performance I'd ever seen.
Want had nothing to do with it. Want was the problem. I wanted her like the devil wanted my soul, and that kind of wanting only ever ended one way… in flames.
"Want has nothing to do with it," I said, my voice rough.
Her fingers slid down my chest anyway, tracing the lines of muscle through my shirt, mapping me like she was memorizing her territory. She rolled her hips against me, and I felt exactly how easy it would be to give in.
I gripped her tighter. Held her still.
"You don't owe me anything," I said, forcing the words out through a throat tight with restraint. "And nobody gets to tell you how to repay kindness. Not Caspian. Not anyone."
For a second—just one—something flickered behind her eyes.
Then it was gone, and she was leaning in again, kissing me like she hadn't heard a word I said. I let it last half a second too long. Let myself be rewarded for at least trying to be honorable.
"That's enough." I gripped her shoulders and held her back. "Stop."
She leaned back. I watched her recalibrate, recalculate, file away whatever she'd learned. Interesting. Very interesting.
Then she slid off me slowly—deliberately slowly, making sure I felt every inch of her body as it left mine.
At the edge of the bed, she looked back.
"I'll learn a better way to thank you," she said.
Then she backed toward the balcony, naked from the waist up.
"Chloe."
She didn't wait. She just climbed over the railing like she'd done it a hundred times—like falling to her death was a risk she'd long since stopped counting.
I pushed out of bed, dick painfully hard, and followed her to the window. I watched her climb until she disappeared.
I stood there for a long time after.
Heart still beating harder than it had in years. Body still aching for her. Mind already anticipating what came next.
Chapter 6: Killian
I didn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt her—
By 0500, I gave up.
I ran the shower hot and stood under the spray until it burned, but it didn't help. Nothing washed her away. My hand moved down my chest. I was already hard. I gripped it. Stroked once.
Then stopped.
What the hell am I doing?
I dropped my hand, braced it against the tile, and hung my head. I stood there until the water ran cold—until my body stopped demanding what I couldn't give it.
She wasn't mine. She was a girl locked in an attic, and I was supposed to marry her sister. If I couldn't keep my hands off her in my own head, I had no business being near her in real life.
I shut the water off, threw on jeans and a shirt, and headed out to find Cartier. Seeing the attic stairs stopped me cold. I could feel her pull. I wanted to kick that door in. I wanted to know if she was the "crazy" girl they described or something else entirely.
