What Grows Dies Here

There was nothing relaxed about his posture. He was watching me with an intensity that was difficult to weather.

“I’m leaving,” I declared, breathless.

Karson’s expression did not falter. “You’re running,” he corrected.

I pursed my lips instead of answering, because he wasn’t wrong.

“You’re running,” he repeated. “But it’s too fucking late. You can’t run from me, and we both know it.”

I didn’t say anything, didn’t try to fight him on that. Just stared. At him. At my name on his chest. His hair still damp from the sea. The bookcases behind him. He looked like he could be on the cover of one of those romances. Dark. Sultry. Perfect.

But you couldn’t fit everything he was into the pages of a book. He was much too large. Too complicated.

And he was terrifying me.

So I walked out that door.

Or as he said, I ran.

Karson did not chase me. He did not break into my house in the night, nor did he text or call me. My fingers were itchy from the need to call him. My limbs were tight, wired with the need to drive to his place, run there if need be.

But I was being stubborn.

No, for the first time in my life, I was being sensible. He had my name tattooed on him. That was too much. That was my sign to get off the ride before it went right off the fucking rails.

My next move would predictably be to find another man. Someone rich, someone dangerous, someone powerful. Or just the closest man with a good jawline and a heartbeat.

But the mere thought of another man touching me sickened me. I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t push past that.

I was fastening my bracelet on my wrist when I saw him, a shadow in the corner of my gaze. I looked up to find him staring at me in a way that made me wonder how long he’d been watching me. I thought I’d become hyperaware of this man and his presence, but I underestimated his skills.

Every cell in my body sang for him, something deep inside me sighing in relief. Something else, something much hungrier, urged me to claw all his clothes off him.

My lips pursed as I took in what he was wearing.

A tuxedo.

His own icy gaze was running over my white gown. It was a simple halter neck, dipping modestly in the front and not so modestly at the back. The fabric draped flawlessly over my body, paired with delicate Jimmy Choos… It was perfection.

My hair in waves, messy and brushing my shoulders. My makeup was sultry, accentuating the creamy hazel eyes given to me by my mother. Clear gloss on the full lips given to me by my dermatologist.

I looked good.

And by the hungry look on his face, Karson seemed to agree. Like he hadn’t seen me in years, not just the three days since I’d stormed off.

It felt like a fucking lifetime.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, slightly breathy. “And I don’t have time for you to make good on that look. I’m late.” I scowled down at the clasp that was fighting me.

Large hands pushed my fingers out of the way, Karson silently crossing the distance between us as I battled with the bracelet.

His fingers expertly fastened it, his thumb brushing the inside of my wrist for a moment before letting me go. Cue all the melty feelings that I thought I wasn’t capable of feeling. The reasons for running three days ago dissolved into nothing.

I swallowed roughly before I looked up at him. “I’m late,” I whispered.

“I know,” he murmured back, grasping my chin in his hands and kissing me gently.

More melty feelings.