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Left arm still pressed firmly against the cool stone counter, she used her right to grab her drink. But even expensive bubbles from the wine couldn’t erase his name from the inside of her wrist.

“When will your stupid signature disappear?”

The right corner of his mouth ticked up. “When I command it.”

She almost dropped her glass. “You better be joking.”

“I think it’s a great addition. I can picture you now, walking around Ivercrest with my name on you for everyone to see.”

Strangulation unfortunately required both hands, and she really didn’t want to lift her left off the counter, so killing him would have to wait.

“The joke is on you,” she snapped back. “I will cross out your name and write Sebastian Morgan’s there instead.”

His smile washed away in an instant. He really was jealous.

“Besides, the lettering is small enough that I can easily cover it up.”

She set her glass down and turned her wrist to him. Dawson’s gaze darkened to a look of possessiveness she hadn’t seen on him before. Gray eyes focused on her wrist with a hard stare, marking her as if his name wasn’t already written there. His Adam’s apple jumped with a big swallow.

What he had said to her that night in the library came back to her now.

If I could brand every inch of your body with my name, I would.

One hand gripped her wrist tightly and his other landed on her lower back, and to her shock, he pressed his lips against the inside of her wrist, right where his name was written, while his eyes remained focused on hers.

Nothing around them mattered as she stared into his silver eyes. Dawson looked like a whole new type of dangerous. Drenched in red light, his pale skin and hair looked like they were bathed in blood. Hers was pulsing against his lips, which were still pressed against the delicate skin of her inner wrist.

Eyes never leaving hers, he slowly removed his lips, as if it cost him effort to do so. But his grip on her didn’t ease. With his thumb he drew slow circles over her wrist.

“It will disappear when we leave the club,” he said in a low voice. She forgot how to breathe.

Even if his signature on her disappeared, she was quite certain she would never be able to erase him from her blood. She didn’t know how it happened or when, but his name was already etched into the very fabric of her soul. It hummed through her now, staking its claim.

“I’m terrified,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, thinking he wouldn’t hear her over the music.

His eyes were soft blue and sparkling silver. “About what?”

Everything. She wanted to say. “My scar. I never go anywhere with a bare arm.”

“Why?”

“I…it’s stupid, but I can feel it. Almost like exposing it gives it more energy.”

She waited for him to laugh and tell her to not be ridiculous. That’s what most people had said. Stop letting it have power over you. But she knew that if she lifted her arm from the cool stone, the pain would return with a vengeance.

Dawson’s laugh never came. Instead, he shrugged out of his jacket and draped it around her shoulders. Gingerly, he lifted her left arm off the counter and placed it in the safety of the sleeve.

Her scar was quiet, hiding behind layers of expensive fabric. Tears formed in her eyes, and it took everything in her to hold them back. This was the nicest thing anyone had done for her in a long time.

She swallowed. “You must think I’m crazy.”

He shook his head. “No, I don’t.” With a light touch, he freed her curls from his jacket until they fell over the collar. She searched for the lie in his eyes but found none.

His hand tucked her hair behind her ear, and with that simple gesture, she wanted to fall into his arms and never let go.

She wanted to be his.

She wanted to be the name that echoed in his soul.