"I am going to ruin everyone else," he corrects softly, his thumb brushing against my swollen lower lip. "You, I am going to keep."
The words settle deep in my chest, heavy and permanent.
I don't care about the contract anymore. I don't care about Simon, or the media, or the engagement party.
I pull him back down to me, surrendering completely to the monster I was supposed to be afraid of.
CHAPTER 12
MALCOLM
The cold machinery of my brain shuts down the moment her fingers twist into my hair.
I have spent my entire adult life operating in environments where a single miscalculation results in catastrophic failure. I am conditioned to observe, to anticipate, to remain entirely detached from the variables in the room.
Audrey is not a variable anymore. She is the only thing in the room.
I slide my hands under the thick wool of her sweater. Her bare skin is warm, the muscles of her back shifting under my palms as she arches into me. The physical contact sends a violent, grounding shock through my nervous system. I press her backward, my chest flush against hers, trapping her completely between my body and the cold edge of the marble island.
She makes a soft, broken sound in the back of her throat, her mouth opening wider beneath mine.
I taste the salt from the food we just ate, the sharp bite of coffee, and the frantic, chaotic energy that has been vibrating between us since the moment she walked into that hotel bar. I angle her head, deepening the kiss, taking exactly what she is offering.
She doesn't pull away. She wraps her legs tighter around my waist, the denim of her jeans sliding against my sweatpants. Her hands drop from my hair to my shoulders, her nails digging into the cotton of my shirt as if she needs the leverage just to stay upright.
I tear my mouth away from hers, dragging my lips down the line of her jaw.
She gasps, her head falling back. The pale skin of her neck is completely exposed in the dim light of the kitchen pendants. I press my mouth to the erratic pulse beating just below her ear.
"Malcolm," she whispers. It isn't a protest. It’s a demand.
I slide one arm under her thighs, adjusting my grip, and lift her completely off the marble counter.
She lets out a sharp breath, instinctively tightening her hold on my shoulders as I carry her away from the kitchen. The penthouse is dead silent around us, the only sound the heavy, uneven rhythm of our breathing.
I walk down the hallway. I pass the closed door of the guest suite without a second glance.
I carry her straight into the master bedroom.
The room is dark, illuminated only by the ambient city light bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I don't bother reaching for the light switch. I walk to the edge of the king-sized bed and let her slide slowly down my chest until her feet touch the hardwood floor.
She doesn't let go of me. Her hands slide up to frame my face, her thumbs brushing across my cheekbones. Her eyes are dilated, the golden flecks swallowed entirely by the dark.
"You passed my room," she murmurs, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
"You don't sleep in that room anymore," I reply.
I catch her wrists, pulling her hands away from my face, and press her gently backward until the backs of her knees hit the edge of the mattress.
"Is that a rule?" she asks, the corner of her mouth curving up in a breathless, unsteady smile.
"It is a logistical necessity." I step into her space, crowding her until she has no choice but to sit down on the edge of the bed. I remain standing, looking down at her. "If you sleep in the guest room, I will spend the entire night staring at the ceiling, calculating how many seconds it would take me to break the lock."
Audrey looks up at me. The humor fades from her expression, replaced by the heavy, undeniable weight of what is happening between us.
She is sitting on my bed. She is wearing my grandmother’s ring. And she just spent the last six hours running across the city to protect me from a mistake I didn't even make.
I reach out, tracing the collar of her oversized sweater with my index finger.
