Page 37 of Tower of Temptations

"Sometimes I think they're the only real thing," I found myself saying. "Everything else can feel like a performance, a game we're all playing. But stars... they justare."

"Like someone else I know." His voice was soft, but it sent warmth spreading through my chest.

"I'm not..." I started, but he cut me off with a gentle laugh.

"Princess, I've watched you these weeks. The way you handle everything that's happened, how you keep your head even when everything's chaos. Hell, even tonight—all that time locked away and you're not even bitter, just grateful." He turned to face me, and suddenly the air felt heavier. "You're something else entirely."

"Says the club owner who quotes constellations."

"Ah, that." His smile turned self-deprecating. "Not exactly the image I usually project, huh?"

"You mean the whole 'love 'em and leave 'em' reputation? The stories I've heard about Sotto Voce's infamous owner?"

"Those would be the ones." He ran a hand through his hair, a surprisingly nervous gesture. "Can't say they're wrong. Was easier that way, you know? Keep it simple, physical. No messy feelings, no complications. Just mutual pleasure and clean goodbyes."

"And now?"

The question hung between us, heavy with possibility. He studied me for a long moment, and I found myself holding my breath.

"Now..." He reached out slowly, brushing a strand of hair from my face. His fingers lingered at my jaw, barely there but sending electricity through my skin. "Now I'm breaking every rule I ever made. And the scariest part? I don't want to stop."

I should have pulled away. Should have remembered that technically I was still a hostage, that this wasn't some romantic movie on a moonlit beach. But then his thumb brushed my bottom lip, feather-light, and coherent thought scattered like stars.

"Your rules sound lonely," I whispered against his fingers.

"They were." His voice had gone rough. "Pearl..."

A wave crashed closer than the others, sending sea spray into the air. He pulled me instinctively closer as if to shield me from the mist. His body curled around mine, one hand steady at my waist while the other remained gentle at my jaw.

I held perfectly still, heart racing—from the sudden movement or his proximity, I couldn't tell. His breath stirred my hair, warm against my neck. Through the thin material of my sweater, I could feel every plane of muscle pressed against my back.

The ocean settled back into its rhythm, but neither of us moved. My pulse pounded in my ears, every nerve ending alive to his touch. When his finger slowly dragged across my bottom lip, I couldn't stop the small sound that escaped.

"We should head back," he murmured, but his hand tightened at my waist.

"Should we?"

His forehead dropped to my shoulder, and I felt rather than heard his groan. "You're killing me, princess."

I turned in his arms, letting my hands rest on his chest. Even in the darkness, I could see how his pupils had dilated, the way his jaw clenched with restraint.

"Maybe I don't want clean goodbyes anymore either."

Something dangerous flared in his eyes. Slowly, he traced his thumb along my jaw, each touch deliberate, questioning. His gaze dropped to my lips, then back to my eyes, heavy with unspoken questions.

I answered by rising up on my toes, closing the last breath of space between us.

The kiss was nothing like I'd expected—and god knows I'd thought about it, watching him pace on security rounds through my windows. No practiced moves or calculated seduction. Just pure need, his hands tangling in my hair as mine fisted in his shirt.

When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, his forehead rested against mine. For a long moment, neither of us spoke.

"We really should get back," he said finally, voice still rough.

"I know." But I made no move to leave the circle of his arms.

He pressed one more kiss to my temple, surprisingly light and tender. "Come on, princess. Before Giuliano sends out a search party."

The walk back felt different, charged with everything left unsaid. At my door, he caught my hand, pressing something into it.

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