“Because you were in an accident? It could have happened any time, anywhere. And then you cared for her. You’ve given up so much, and you did it for her. Her family doesn’t convince me that love is real, or that it’s anything I might want. But you do. To be loved the way you loved her …” her throat closed up, emotion coursing through her. “Well, anyone would be lucky to experience that.”
His eyes met hers, and she was stunned by the depth of emotion there. Usually he kept everything veiled, concealed, and now, in this moment, the veil was torn and she could see a depth, a pain, that went so deep she had no idea how he could ever climb out of it. How anyone could.
Mak was the strongest man she’d ever met, and it had nothing to do with the strength of his body.
“Love is overrated,” he said.
Though they both knew it wasn’t. Because Mak himself embodied how much love was worth. Real love. He’d demonstrated it to his wife daily. And he was changing how Eva saw it too.
Eva stood up, her body trembling. She needed to touch him, needed to show him evidence of the emotion, the need that had her in its grip. She just wasn’t certain how. Or where it would lead. But she needed to take the chance.
She rounded the table and went to stand in front of him. He only looked at her, immobile, eyes unreadable. She leaned in, hands shaking as she placed her palms flat on his cheeks, moving her fingertips over his skin.
The air between them felt tight, as if it was closing in around them. There was no sound, only their breathing, harsh, uneven. Mak raised his eyes and caught her gaze, his brows locked together, his jaw set tight, a muscle in his face ticking. He was waiting. Waiting to see what she would do.
So was she.
She slid her thumb over his bottom lip. He tasted her, the tip of his tongue hot and slick on her skin. A tremor shot through her, an arrow of desire that made her core ache, her breasts feel heavy.
She started to lean in and he put his hand over hers, pinning it to the table. “Think this through before you do anything,” he said, his words strangled.
“I have,” she said. “You aren’t the only one who wants things, Mak. I want to touch you. To see you. Everywhere.”
“Eva,” her name was like a prayer on his lips. Or a curse. She wasn’t certain.
“Let me,” she said.
Desire made her bold. It made her certain. She didn’t question what she wanted, not now. She knew. She bent down and kissed him, his lips firm beneath hers.
He didn’t move, he simply let her explore his mouth, trace the outline of his lips with her tongue. A shudder moved through his body as his hands came up to grip her hips. His fingers were tight on her hips, fingers digging into her flesh.
She broke the kiss, rested her forehead against his. “I’ve never done that before,” she whispered, each word broken by a shaky breath.
“You do it very well,” he said, his voice rough.
“Hmm,” She leaned in and kissed his mouth again, softly. “I’m glad you like it.”
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple dipping. “Too much.”
She slid her fingers through his hair, and he kept his hands firmly planted on her hips, his eyes never leaving hers. “What’s wrong with liking it?” she asked.
He chuckled, that same sort of bitter, humorless release she’d become accustomed to hearing from him. “We’ve been over this before, my princess. I am meant to protect you. This isn’t protecting you.” His tone was bogged down with weight. With regret.
“But I want it.”
“You imagine I don’t?”
“You asked me what I wanted for my birthday, and I was honest. Dinner was lovely. But I left out a big part of what I wanted. I want you, Mak. I want to … to be with you.”
He turned his head away. “Why?”
She pushed his hair off his forehead, the gesture natural and thrilling at the same time. “Because I want you. Isn’t that enough?”
He turned to face her again, his expression so hungry it was almost frightening. Almost. “Want is … want is something I’ve spent a very long time ignoring. Want is something I’ve spent a very long time pretending doesn’t matter. There has only been necessity. Only breathing.”