“Where?”
“The garden.”
He held out his hand and she took it, warmth rushing through her as his fingers closed around hers. That simple touch spread a bone-deep ache through her body, a need that transcended anything she’d ever known. And it wasn’t just sex. It was something more, something deeper. Something that frightened her because she knew that soon, very soon, she would be denied Mak’s touch in even the simplest capacity.
He led her through the vacant corridor. They passed staff, members of security. But staff was paid to ignore what they weren’t meant to see, and Mak was the superior of every security team member there. That meant no one questioned them. They hardly looked.
They went out into the garden behind the glittering ballroom. People were milling around on the balcony, chatting, laughing and drinking, the sounds filling the night air. She and Mak skirted the outside of the trees, walking deep into the garden, to their place, hidden back in the grapevines.
It was the last place he’d held her in his arms. The place she’d given in to despair. The place where her hope had left her. He’d come to her then, braced her, helped her stay strong.
“Dance with me,” she said, her voice trembling.
“I should not,” he said.
“We shouldn’t be here at all. We’re courting impropriety, and we’re doing it very deliberately.”
“That’s true.”
“Dance with me like you did the night at the ball. In the beginning.” Rather than here, at the end. Her stomach ached and she closed her eyes against the pain.
He drew her to him, pressing her body against the length of his. “Very true,” he whispered.
She laid her head on his chest and listened to his heart pound beneath her ear. She wanted to tell him, so badly. The words hovered on the edge of her lips, sweet on her tongue, but threatening to burn her if she released them.
If he rejected her love, it would ruin what they had. They could never be together. Not really. So it was better to just preserve it as it was. To hold the love she felt for him close to her chest. To use it to warm her through her cold marriage. And maybe someday it wouldn’t be Mak’s face she saw when she closed her eyes.
Doubtful. But maybe.
It made her want to cling to his image even more tightly.
They swayed, not keeping time. There was no music here, no noise from her engagement party reaching in to disturb them. She pushed back the despair that was threatening to crowd in. There was no room for it now. This was her time, her moment.
“Back at the chalet, I thought that moment in the living room would be our last kiss,” he said, his voice rough.
She swallowed. “So did I.”
“I don’t want it to be our last kiss.”
“I don’t either.” She didn’t want there to be a last kiss, she wanted there always to be another kiss on the horizon. To have years of them. To fall asleep to them and wake up to them. But no one ever asked what she wanted.
He tilted his head and brushed her lips with his. Every pore of her body sighed with relief. For now, there would be more kisses. Maybe too many to count. And she would take that. Happily.
He deepened the kiss and she met him, sliding her tongue against his, spreading her hands over his shoulders, down his back, holding him to her, as he tightened his hold on her.
A sob climbed her throat, but she suppressed it. She didn’t have time to cry. She couldn’t waste one moment of this time with him by being sad, or by regretting what wasn’t to be. She had to seize now. She had to live in it completely.
She loosened his tie and undid the top four buttons on his shirt, spreading it as wide as she could so she could reach her hand in and brush her fingers over his muscles, letting them follow the contours of his body, the gorgeous, defined lines that were so sexy they made her hands tremble.
He slid his hands down her waist, to her hips, gathering the gauzy fabric of her gown in his hands and bunching it into his hands, moving the hemline from the ground to her mid calf. She tilted her head and he kissed her neck, her shoulder, running his tongue along the edge of her gown’s neckline.
She shivered beneath the sensual friction and he brought the hem of her gown up higher, to her knees, before lowering one hand and sweeping it beneath the fabric. He moved his hand up her thigh, cupping her bare hip, finding her panties and drawing them down. She kicked them to the side and he moved his hand around to palm her butt.