Page 53 of Knot So Fast
The position puts him close enough that I can see the flecks of green in his blue eyes, the way his pupils dilate slightly as he looks at me.
"Is it true?" I whisper, needing to hear it from him directly. "You're really Lucius's twin?"
He studies my face with an intensity that makes me shiver despite the hot water.
"What do you think?"
I know the answer. Have known it from the moment he kissed me in the rain with a desperation that was nothing like his brother's aggressive passion. Everything about him screams the truth—the similarities that are just different enough, the way he moves with more controlled grace, the way he looks at me like I'm simultaneously the answer to every prayer and the source of every torment.
I bite my bottom lip, worrying it between my teeth as I gather courage for what I want to ask next. His eyes track the movement, darkening in a way that makes my core clench with anticipation.
"Can you kiss me one more time?" The request comes out as barely a whisper, but in the quiet of the bathroom, it might as well be a shout.
He stares at me for so long I start to think he's going to refuse. His jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in a way that speaks of internal struggle. But then something in his expression shifts, softens, and he leans in slowly enough that I could stop him if I wanted to.
I don't want to.
Our lips meet in the softest, most tender kiss I've had in longer than I can remember. It's nothing like the desperatepassion in the rain or the aggressive claiming I'm used to with Lucius.
This is gentle, almost reverent, like he's handling something precious and breakable. His lips move against mine with deliberate care, and I can taste everything he's not saying in the way he kisses me like it might be the last time.
When we finally part, we're both breathing a little unsteadily. I search his face, trying to understand the pain I see flickering in his eyes.
"Why would you stay away if we had something?" I whisper, the question that's been building since I realized who he was finally spilling out.
He doesn't answer with words.
Instead, he leans forward and presses his lips to my forehead in a gesture so similar to what Kieran and even Lucius do in certain tender moments that it makes my chest ache with recognition I can't quite grasp. The kiss is soft, lingering, and somehow more intimate than if he'd claimed my mouth again.
"Sometimes staying away is the best form of protection," he whispers against my skin, and I can hear years of pain in those words.
Before I can ask what he means, before I can demand answers to the dozens of questions crowding my throat, he's standing and walking toward the door. He pauses at the threshold, not looking back.
"Take as long as you want. I'll have food ready when you're done."
Then he's gone, leaving me alone with the cooling bathwater and the lingering scent of his cologne. I breathe it in deeply, trying to break down the unique components—musk and expensive cologne, certainly, but underneath there's something else. Something that reminds me of hot metal and burningrubber, of speed and competition and the particular ozone smell of a racetrack after rain.
It's intoxicating in a way that makes my core tighten with possibilities I can't fully remember but my body apparently does. The thought of having anything sexual with him sends heat spiraling through me that has nothing to do with the bath temperature.
"This has to be some complicated shit," I mutter to myself, sinking back into the water until only my face remains above the surface.
But even as I say it, I know I won't get answers unless I actually try. Unless I push past the careful boundaries everyone seems to have erected around me and demand to know what happened.
What we were.
What we could be if people would stop trying to protect me from my own life.
The question is whether pursuing those answers will be worth the emotional upheaval they're sure to cause.
Whether learning about my past with Lachlan—and apparently Kieran and Caspian and god knows who else—will help me move forward or just complicate an already impossible situation.
I think about the way he kissed me, tender and desperate and final all at once.
About the way he said 'our house' like it was the most natural thing in the world.
About how this place looks like my dream home made real, like someone took my Pinterest boards and secret wishes and built them into reality.
None of this is coincidence.
