Page 59 of Captive Bride

More than anything.

“So do I, Isobel,” he says, planting a kiss on my forehead.

“Can it, though?” I pull myself from his arms, sitting up in my distress. “A Montague and a Capulet? They’ll never leave us alone.”

He sits as well, palms rubbing against his eyes as he does.

“We’ll make it work.”

“How?”

His lips pull into a smile that has nothing to do with happiness.

“I’ll worry about that.”

He leans in, lips finding mine in a kiss that brooks no further argument. His hand climbs up to my head, fingers twining through my hair. All argument and all thoughts cease in my head, replaced with sparks of passion.

I whimper as he pulls away, standing quickly.

He grabs for his pants, sliding them on with an urgency that says the conversation is over.

Really, what else is there to say? This ends one of two ways: it’s either we somehow, against the odds, find a way to be together...

Or we die screaming. No middle ground.

Without his touch, the thoughts come screaming back into my mind, racing around in an endless loop of worry.

I push them aside with all of my strength. Worrying won’t help us.

I pull the blankets aside, crisp morning air meeting my naked skin, and stand.

Outside, the rain has finally come to a stop. Small droplets occasionally falling from the roof are all that remain of the storm.

I cross to the terrace, feeling his eyes on me the whole way. Even from across the room, his gaze sends shivers racing through me.

I bask in it, having never felt anything quite like his eyes on my naked flesh.

The doorknob turns easily in my hand, and I make my way out onto the terrace.

The fresh air greets me, purified in a way that only rain can manage. It smells like rebirth, like what remains when everything has been stripped clean.

The grounds are saturated, sparkling brilliantly in the sunlight, endless water drops blinking as far as the eye can see.

I cross to the railing, my hands wrapping tightly around it.

Will I ever get used to this sight?

Behind me, I hear Tristan speaking on the phone.

“I’ll be right there,” he says, before hanging up.

He’s at my side the next moment, his eyes skimming quickly across the sodden grounds.

“I have to go down and deal with some business,” he says. “Meet me for breakfast in twenty minutes?”

“Sure.”

He kisses me again, heat trailing down the length of me to pool between my legs.

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