Page 39 of Love Is A Draw
She answered with a kiss that was all invitation.
“I thought I’d ruined everything,” he said into her skin, his lips grazing her jaw. “But you kiss me like you’d forgive me anything.”
Her hand gripped his coat. “I kiss you because I couldn’t not.”
Her honesty burned through him. His mouth found her neck again, and this time she didn’t just gasp—she pulled him closer, her thigh brushing his, her hips tilting toward him in a silent dare.
He moved over her, gently urging her backward along the cushioned seat. She went willingly, as he pressed a kiss to the hollow of her throat, then lower. Her hands tangled in his wet cravat, tugging him up to kiss her again, deeper this time, with no hesitation at all.
The hackney bumped and lurched beneath them, but he barely noticed, lost in the shape of her, the way her body responded to his, the breathy sound she made when his fingers skimmed the edge of her stays.
“You shouldn’t want me like this.” His forehead pressed to hers. “Not after today. Not after what I put you through.”
She searched his face with those dark, shining eyes. “I’ve run the calculation.”
“And?”
“Even with all the variables, I’d still choose this.”
His heart twisted. The girl who once hid behind logic had just chosen madness. Him.
Victor kissed her again, slower now, reverent. His hand cradled the side of her face, his thumb brushing the damp skin just below her eye.You’re everything.He didn’t say the words aloud. They pulsed through his fingertips.
He slid his other hand to the back of her thigh, lifting it slightly until her leg curved around him, bringing them flush together. She gasped softly, her body shifting beneath his. Everyinch of her responded to him as though they’d always been meant for this—no calculation, no preparation. Just instinct.
And desire. He’d never known anything could hurt and heal so completely at once.
“I want to touch you,” he said against her mouth. “Tell me you want this too.”
Her lips brushed his. “I do.”
She wasn’t trembling now.
His hand slipped beneath the hem of her skirt, the fabric whispering as he pushed it higher, past her knees. Her skin, damp and chilled from the rain, warmed under his touch. Her breath caught again, and he watched her as he touched her—slowly, reverently, each movement deliberate, meant to memorize the delightful contact.
Her eyes fluttered shut. Her hips tilted. Her fingers clutched his arms.
He had never touched anything more sacred.
“Look at me,” he whispered, needing to see her.
She opened her eyes. Dark and full of fire.
She was everything he’d ever wanted. And the one person he could never defeat.
There would be no going back after this.
CHAPTER 18
They reached the Pearlers’ grand home just in time— just before he did what he couldn’t without Dmitry Tarkov’s permission. Not without vows exchanged. Their hearts had already been given. But his honor demanded more.
Victor sat motionless in the hackney after Gail disappeared into the Pearlers’ home, the door shutting with a quiet finality that echoed louder than it should have. Her breathless confession—I didn’t know I’d fall in love on the same day I nearly died—clung to him like smoke.
She had given him everything. Trust. Desire. Truth.
And now she was gone from his arms, leaving behind not relief, but a quiet ache that twisted low in his chest.
Gail—Avigail—Tarkov. Dmitry’s granddaughter.
