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Draping her arm over the edge of the stone, she rested a hand atop his wet hair and scratched his scalp. He groaned quietly at the gesture. Men are like melodramatic cats, I swear. Or dogs. Definitely melodramatic dogs. “You’re not letting me finish. When I was thinking about what felt different this time—why I feel different this time, I realized what it was. I don’t feel trapped with you. Not like I did when I was on that boat heading to America.”

“You…don’t?”

“No. I—I know I should. I know this is stupid. But I’m having fun when I’m around you. I’m not jumping at every shadow. I don’t feel as afraid. At first, I couldn’t figure out what changed. I’m still insane, I’m still living off your wallet and good graces, and I can’t go anywhere or do anything without you. Apparently if I do, I’m gonna get shot.”

He sighed. “I still—”

“Shush.”

He fell silent.

Pulling her foot from his grasp, she rolled onto her side and looked down at him. Reaching down, she stroked her fingers through his hair again. “I never once accepted what you were. What you really were. Did I?”

He raised an eyebrow at her.

She smacked his forehead. “You can answer questions, smartass.”

Chuckling, he dodged a second smack. “No. You always suspected. The few times you discovered the truth, or saw my true form, you…fled and begged for death. And around on the carousel we would go again.”

“I think the freedom I have been looking for is going to be found in the coming to terms with who and what you are. More importantly, who and what I am.” She laid back on the sarcophagus again. “Which is why I’m going to keep going on this stupid little fetch quest of self-discovery with you. I’ll either accept what we are, and be free, or we die, and I’ll be free. Problem solved.”

“I would argue the latter, but very well.”

“Gideon?”

“Yes?”

“Come here.”

Silence. For a moment, he didn’t move. But then, warily, as if she were a rabid bear, she heard him slowly climb to his feet. She sat and moved to the end of the slab, and he walked to stand by her knees where she dangled them off the edge.

He was soaked. His black silk shirt was clinging to him. The idiot was still wearing his vest. She began to undo the buttons of the double-breasted piece of wool, starting at the top.

“Marguerite…”

There was so much in that one whisper of her name. It resonated with need. It was a desperate plea and a dire warning all at the same time.

“I can’t love you if I don’t know who you are.” She finished unbuttoning his vest and slowly slipped it from his shoulders, tossing it aside. He did nothing to help her but did nothing to stop her either. “And I can’t forgive you if I don’t know what you’ve done.”

She slipped her hand up his chest and slowly wound his silver tie around her palm once, then twice. His chest was rising and falling harder now, and she watched his jaw tick. The muscles were taut like a piano wire, ready to snap.

His silver eyes were like liquid, the lids heavy as his gaze burned into her. “Marguerite.”

“This doesn’t have to be about forgiveness.” She hooked a heel behind his knee and pulled him closer until he stood with his thighs against the stone between hers. “This doesn’t have to be anything more than filling the need we both have had for a very long time.”

He shuddered.

“I know that might not be enough for you. And I understand it if you don’t—if this is cruel to play with your heart like this. I don’t want to hurt you. I really don’t. But…hey.” She pulled on his tie, tugging him down closer to her, while her other hand found the buckle of his belt, and pulled the leather from the brass. “I might be a virgin, and there are a lot of guys out there with guns who want to shoot me, and I—”

Her words ended as his lips crashed against hers. One of his hands snapped to the back of her neck, and she gasped as he pulled her forward roughly. He kissed her as though he wanted to devour her—bruising and unforgiving. She moaned against his lips as he took from her all that he wanted like a man dying of thirst finding a well. She could only cling to his soaked shirt as he growled against her.

The hand at her throat tangled in her wet hair and fisted it. He pulled on it hard, stinging her scalp, tugging her head back. She gasped against him, her lips parting, and that was all the invitation he needed before his tongue danced with hers, searing her mouth with his kiss like a brand.

He had warned her she was playing with fire. She had shaken the cage of a wild, starved animal. And now the abomination was free. And she had nowhere to run to. Nowhere to hide.

Good.

She nearly ripped his shirt open, popping several of the buttons off in the process as she was desperate to feel his skin beneath her touch. When she could snake her hands along him, she moaned against his lips again at the feeling of him. She knew he was muscular. But to experience it—to have it—that was something else entirely.