"That night at your father's gala," I said, my voice rough with remembered desire. "I've never forgotten it. Never stopped thinking about how you felt beneath me, how you responded to my touch."
"It was just sex," she whispered, but her pulse raced beneath my fingers.
"Was it?" I leaned closer, my lips brushing her ear. "Because I've fucked other women since then, and none of them have come close to affecting me the way you did."
She pulled back to meet my gaze, her pupils dilated with desire. "That's impossible. You barely knew me."
"I knew enough." My hands slid down to her waist, pulling her against me. "I knew you were a prize, intelligent, beautiful. Unlike with Beatrice, we had a connection."
"Alexander..." Her voice was breathless now, her body melting against mine.
"Tell me you haven't thought about it," I demanded, my mouth moving to her throat. "Tell me you haven't wondered what it would be like if we'd met under different circumstances."
Instead of answering, she wound her arms around my neck, pulling me down for a kiss that tasted of morning coffee and possibilities. I lifted her onto the counter, stepping between her spread thighs as the kiss deepened.
"This is madness," she gasped against my lips.
"Yes," I agreed, sliding my hands beneath the t-shirt to find bare skin. "Complete fucking madness."
Her laugh was breathless, intoxicating. "Good thing I've always been drawn to dangerous things."
I was about to respond when she pulled back, her eyes bright with sudden inspiration.
"Alexander," she said. "The hunt. The one you shared with Beatrice."
My hands stilled on her waist. "What about it?"
"I want to replace that memory." Her smile was wicked, predatory. "I want to hunt with you, on your terms. No masks, no games—just us."
The suggestion sent lust surging through me with startling intensity. "Aoife?—"
"You said sometimes, people consented to it. Well, I do. Tonight," she continued, her fingers tracing patterns on my chest. "The same location, the same setup. But this time, it's our choice. Our game."
I studied her face, searching for any sign of hesitation. Instead, I found only determination and a hunger that matched my own.
"You have no idea what you're asking for," I warned, my voice cracking, my head spinning.
"Then show me," she challenged, pulling me down for another kiss. "Show me what it means to be hunted by Alexander Moore."
The thought of chasing her through moonlit paths, of catching her and claiming her under the stars, sent fire racing through my veins. No, it wouldn’t be exactly like with Beatrice. It would be nothing like with Beatrice.
It would be magic.
"Yes," I breathed against her lips, already planning how the night would unfold. "Tomorrow night, you're mine to hunt."
Her smile was pure temptation. "We'll see who catches whom."
Twenty-Two
RONAN FLANAGAN
The Maserati engineroared as I pushed it harder than necessary through the winding roads leading to the Ashford estate. My knuckles were white against the steering wheel, the familiar weight of dread settling in my chest like a stone. Every mile closer to those wrought-iron gates felt like stepping backward through time, toward ghosts I'd spent too long trying to bury.
I'd sworn—on my father's grave, on every scar he and Connor O’Malley had carved into my soul—that I'd never return to this cursed place. The manor held too many shadows: Eleanor's betrayals echoing through marble halls, my father's blood staining memories that should have been sacred, the hunt that had nearly ripped Cressida from my arms forever.
But then she'd mentioned the gardens. Just once, quietly, while we'd been lying in our London penthouse watching rain streak the windows. The way spring used to look at her childhood home. The roses she’d planted. The wistful longing in her voice had been a blade between my ribs.
That was what loving Cressida Ashford did to me—made me willing to walk through hell if it meant seeing her smile. Then again, with her mother and sister, she’d been through worse hell, so who was I to complain? She loved that garden, which was why I’d given her a new one in the big city townhouse to design and nurture. Not as big as the Ashford one, though.
