Page 25 of His Vow

"Right." I nodded. Swallowed. "Okay. Good to know."

He stepped forward. His hands found my waist. His fingers pressed into the curve above my hips, firm, warm, pulling me away from the wall and toward him.

"She's standing right in front of me," he said.

I stared at him. His face was close. His eyes were dark, steady, and the corner of his mouth was doing the thing — the ghost, the twitch — except this time it kept going. Past the corner. Into his cheek. His lips parted.

Teeth. For the first time, I saw his teeth.

"You are — " I started.

He kissed me. His mouth swallowed the rest of the sentence. His hands tightened on my waist, pulling me flush against him, and I grabbed the front of his shirt with both fists because my knees had made a decision my brain hadn't approved. His tongue found mine. I made a sound into his mouth — high, involuntary — and his grip on my waist tightened in response. His fingers pressing into bare skin where my top had ridden up.

I kissed him. My hands on his face, pulling him down to me. His arms wrapped around my waist and lifted me onto my toes. I kissed him until the gallery disappeared, until the paintings blurred, until the only thing in focus was his mouth and his hands and the heat of his body pressed against mine. His fingers found the hem of my top and grazed the bare skin at my waist. I gasped against his lips. He pulled me tighter.

I pulled back. Breathless. My hands were still on his face. His eyes were dark, half-closed, his lips parted.

"My birthday is on the 9th of November," I said. "My dad is hosting a dinner. It's supposed to be small, but it won't be, because he doesn't know how to do small." I traced his jaw with my thumb. "I want you there."

His eyes searched mine. "I'll be there."

I kissed him once more — quick, firm, a seal on something. Then I let go, stepped back, and smoothed my top where his hands had been.

"Margaux is pretending not to watch us from the back room," I said. "You should go before she starts charging admission."

His mouth twitched. The ghost reached further than usual — past the corner, into the cheek. Almost teeth. Not quite. He turned, walked to the door, and pushed it open. The October air rushed in. He looked back at me once. Then he left.

I stood in my gallery. My lips were swollen. My skin buzzed where his fingers had grazed my waist. The rosemary on the windowsill caught the afternoon light.

I pulled out my phone and typed a message to my father.

Soleil

Daddy, add one more name to the guest list.

His reply came in seconds.

Hugh

Who is it?

I looked at the door Nolan had walked through. The October light falling across the threshold. The space he'd left behind still felt warm.

Soleil

Someone I'd like you to meet.

I didn't know it yet. I couldn't have known. But I'd just opened the front door of my father's house to the man who came to burn it down.

EIGHT

NOLAN

She was waiting at the door.

I saw her through the glass before I reached the steps — gold fabric, dark curls pinned up with a few left loose at her temples, bare shoulders catching the porch light. She opened the door before I could knock, grabbed my lapel, and pulled me inside.

"You're late."