The honesty of it makes my chest ache.
“Why?” I ask softly, even though I know.
His gaze darkens, deepens.
“Because this is you.”
That’s it.
That’s all. It’s the most devastating answer he could have given me.
Back at the hotel, the ocean is still roaring below the cliff in the dark.
The terrace lights glitter softly.
The private hot tub steams under the cold New England night.
Room service trays are gone, the suite turned down, the fireplace still glowing low and gold like the room itself knows something momentous is about to happen here.
Tristan closes the suite door behind us.
And then he doesn’t touch me right away.
That’s the thing I will remember forever.
Not the hunger first.
The pause.
The way he just stands there looking at me in the half-light with his bow tie loosened now and his tux still making him look like every first fantasy I ever had, only older, bigger, more devastating, more real.
His gaze moves over me slowly.
Not greedy.
Not rushed.
Like he is taking in every line of me as if memory alone will never be enough.
I swallow.
The room feels smaller.
Warmer.
Charged.
“Say something,” I whisper, because the silence is getting inside my bones.
His mouth curves, but only faintly.
“You’re beautiful.”
The words should feel simple.
They don’t.
Not in his voice.
