Page 32 of Dual

The water in the shower has stopped running. Domhnall will be out soon, warm and damp, his hair curling at the edges like it always does when it's wet. The thought makes my heart skip, my fingers suddenly itching to touch those curls and wrap them around my fingertips.

I swallow hard, my throat dry.

My feet move on their own to the drawer beside the silverware. To the little plastic container that holds my birth control. The pastel case looks innocent enough, but its presence suddenly feels like a betrayal.

I hesitate. I don't have to do this.

Ishouldn'tdo this.

But my fingers pop the pill out of the foil, and I step to the sink. I check over my shoulder. Once. Twice.

Then I toss the pill down the garbage disposal and flip the switch at the same time I turn on the water. The timing is perfect. Practiced.

The grinding sound fills the kitchen, loud, drowning out the tiny voice of conscience in my head.

I close my eyes and take a slow breath, bracing my hands on the counter. The ache between my legs is still there, a reminder of last night, of what Mads did in our body, withhim. My palms press harder against the cool granite.

I can fix this. If Mads is reckless, then I will be methodical. If she takes, I will take more. I willwinthe life I deserve.

I've just turned off the water when I feel him behind me. His presence fills the kitchen, warm and solid, making the air seem thicker. My senses heighten, so attuned to him.

"Morning, love," he murmurs, his voice still rough from sleep, sending delicious shivers down my spine. His arms slide around my waist, and his lips find the curve of my neck, pressing a soft kiss to the sensitive skin there.

My heart flutters traitorously, but almost immediately I feel that familiar tightness in my chest—that warning sign I've come to recognize. The first hint that I might slip away and Mads might take over. That I might lose this moment before I've even had it.

I take a steadying breath and turn in his arms, careful to maintain a slight space between us. My eyes drink him in—hair still damp, curling slightly around his ears just as I'd imagined. Droplets of water cling to his collarbone, catching the golden morning light. I want to lick them off. He's dressedin nothing but a towel slung low around his hips, revealing the hard planes of his chest and muscled abs.

He's beautiful. And he's mine. Even if I can't have him the way I want.

He smiles down at me, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that's always been just for me. "What's for breakfast?" he asks, but the way his gaze drops to my lips tells me food is the last thing on his mind.

My throat tightens. I want him so badly it physically hurts, but I know what will happen if we go too far. I'll disappear, and she'll emerge. Again.

"I was thinking coffee," I reply, resting my hands lightly against his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath my palms. "And maybe pancakes?"

His eyes soften with understanding, and he presses a gentle kiss to my forehead instead of my lips. "Pancakes sound perfect."

Relief and disappointment war within me. He knows. Of course, he knows. He's becoming just as attuned to the subtle shifts in me, and the invisible boundaries I can't seem to cross.

"I'll get started on the coffee," I say, slipping out of his arms and moving toward the cabinet where we keep the mugs. The physical distance helps me breathe easier, even as my body aches for his touch.

He leans against the counter, watching me with those perceptive eyes. "Did you sleep well?" he asks.

"Like a baby," I lie, keeping my back to him as I scoop coffee into the French press. I won't tell him about wakingup sore. About finding the clothes. About the scuffed boots and threatening message. Not now, when the morning feels so fragile and precious.

When I turn back, he's closer than I expected, and my breath catches.

"Anna," he says softly, taking the press from my hands and setting it on the counter. His fingers interlace with mine, a simple touch that feels safer than others. "I love you."

Something about the way he says it—so earnest, so completely present—makes my eyes sting with sudden tears. He lovesme. Not just her.Me.

"I love you, too," I whisper, and those words, at least, are nothing but truth.

He pulls me into a hug, just holding me, his chin resting on top of my head. It's chaste but intimate, this embrace. Safe. I let myself melt into it, breathing in his scent, memorizing the feel of his chest rising and falling against mine. His clean scent filling my nose.

"Let me make you breakfast," he says into my hair. "You sit. Relax."

I nod against his chest, reluctantly pulling away. As he moves around the kitchen gathering ingredients, I watch him, mentally tracing the lines of his body, loving him from this safe distance.