Page 82 of Broken Blades

My body relaxed. Automatically. Like it knew something my brain refused to acknowledge.

Wyatt caught my waist. Hands firm, anchoring, steadying me without hesitation. His fingers splayed against the fabric of my dress—possessive but not invasive. Grounding. He didn't let go. Not immediately. Not even when I regained my footing.

His thumb brushed once—barely—against my side. A deliberate pressure that sent heat spiraling through my entire body despite the cold.

I looked up. Found his face too close. Found his eyes locked on mine with an intensity that stole whatever breath I'd managed to recover.

"Careful." His voice was low. Meant only for me. "Ice is unpredictable."

But he wasn't talking about the parking lot.

I knew that.

He knew I knew.

My pulse hammered. "I'm fine."

"Are you?"

The question landed heavier than it should have. Like he was asking something else entirely. Like he could feel the way my heart raced beneath his palm. Like he noticed the flush creeping up my neck. Like he saw through every wall I'd tried to rebuild between us.

I stepped back.

He let me—but slowly. His hands slid away with deliberate reluctance, fingertips trailing across fabric until the last possible second.

A camera flashed. Then another. Then a dozen.

I flinched at the sudden barrage of light. Wyatt shifted immediately—subtle, protective—blocking me from the worst of it with his body. His hand found the small of my back. Not for show. Not performance.

Instinct.

"Stay close," he murmured. "They'll swarm if you hesitate."

I nodded mutely. And when he guided me forward through the crowd, his hand never left my back. Not once.

We stopped just shy of the entrance doors. The crowd pressed closer. Cameras angled for better shots. Someone shouted a question I didn't catch over the rush of blood in my ears.

Wyatt's hand tightened fractionally at my back. Then his eyes dropped. To my mouth. Not quick. Not accidental. Deliberate.

Heat flooded through me—sudden, disorienting, terrifying. My breath caught. My lips parted on instinct, some treacherous part of me anticipating something I had no right to want.

And then⁠—

No warning.

No signal.

No pause.

Wyatt leaned in and kissed me.

Fully.

Mouth to mouth.

Firm.

Possessive.