Page 31

T he night air was cool but gentle, carrying the faint scent of salt and heather as Bridget stepped onto the cliffs, the vast stretch of ocean unfurling before her in silver and shadow. The manor was far behind her now, its candlelit windows barely flickering in the distance.

She should have stayed inside, should have tried to rest, but the house had felt suffocating. The air within its walls had grown thick with too many voices, too many unspoken fears.

Her footsteps had carried her here without thought, drawn to the place where the wind was sharp and clean, where the endless horizon stretched beyond the reach of secrets and grief. She inhaled deeply, letting the salt air fill her lungs, willing it to wash away the burden of the past days.

And yet, even here, the restlessness remained.

She didn’t hear him approach over the wind and waves, but somehow, she knew he was there before he spoke.

“I wasn’t expecting company,” he murmured.

She glanced up at him, her pulse already picking up. “Did you follow me?”

His lips quirked slightly. “I was already out here.”

Bridget studied him in the moonlight, the pale glow highlighting the sharp angles of his face, the shadowed edge of his jaw. There was something about him in this moment, unburdened, raw, unguarded.

The wind played with the loose tendrils of her hair as she looked back out to sea. “I used to come to places like this as a girl, staring out at the horizon and imagining what lay beyond it.”

Thomas’s voice was quiet. “And now?”

She let out a slow breath. “Now, I wonder what I will lose before I ever have the chance to find out.”

The gravity of the past days was a burden to both of them, but Thomas did not speak of it. Instead, he simply watched her, as if memorizing every detail of this moment.

She turned to face him, and the world seemed to shift.

The moonlight turned his eyes to steel and smoke, their depths drawing her in until she forgot the cold, the wind, even her own name.

She stepped closer, her heart racing, her breath shallow, pulled toward him not by reason but by need.

She felt his warmth even before her fingers brushed against the front of his coat, hesitant yet sure.

“I do not wish to be alone tonight,” she whispered.

Something flickered in his gaze, something dark, something restrained.

“You are not alone,” he murmured. And then his hands were on her, pulling her against him with the certainty of a man who had tried to resist and failed.

Her breath hitched as his mouth found hers, a soft gasp escaping as desire lit like a spark along her spine.

The kiss was slow at first, deliberate, as if he were memorizing the taste of her.

But need burned beneath his restraint, threading through the tension in his body, in the way her fingers curled against the rough fabric of his coat, clutching it to anchor herself for the moment.

The kiss deepened, fierce and sweet, and for the first time in days, she felt something other than loss. She felt alive.

She arched into him, fingers sliding up his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath her palm. He groaned softly, a sound of surrender and warning all at once.

Her world narrowed to sensation, the heat of his body, the wind whipping at her skirts, the way his lips parted against hers with aching reverence.

It was intoxicating. It was inevitable.

She gasped as his mouth left hers, only to trace a path down the delicate column of her throat, his breath warm against her skin. His grip tightened at her waist as she pressed closer, as if testing how much space truly remained between them.

And then, suddenly, his hands stilled.

He exhaled sharply, his forehead coming to rest against hers, his breath uneven. His fingers flexed against her waist before he pulled back, just slightly, enough to cool the fever between them.

“Bridget.” His voice was raw, the single syllable a plea, a warning.

She shivered, though not from the cold.

His hand lifted to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing the curve of her lips, swollen from his kiss. “I want you.” The admission was hoarse, stripped bare of pretense. “But not like this. Not here. Not now.”

There was more he could not say, truths that lived behind his eyes, truths he feared would undo everything. But not tonight. Not while her trust still shone in the moonlight. Not until he found the courage to face what came next.

Bridget hadn’t been prepared for this. For him.

For the way her body answered his touch, for the way his lips moved against hers with a purpose that set fire to every nerve in her body. The sea air was sharp and cool against her skin, but his warmth wrapped around her, sinking beneath her defenses as if he had always belonged there.

Thomas wasn’t holding back this time.

His hands skimmed the curve of her waist, his grip firm, possessive. She felt the raw power in him, the restraint slowly unraveling as she pressed closer, threading her fingers into the dark waves of his hair.

A low sound rumbled in his throat as he tilted her chin, deepening the kiss, as if trying to brand her with it, as if he had already accepted that there was no undoing this.

She gasped against his mouth as his hands skated over her ribs, sending tremors of heat through her.

Her eyes fluttered closed, and for an instant, there was no grief, no guilt.

There was only the undeniable truth of his touch and what it awakened in her.

It was as though a dam had broken inside her, releasing everything she’d tried to hold back.

His thumbs teased the sensitive skin just below her corset’s edge, drawing another breathless sound from her lips.

Her pulse pounded, a slow, insistent thrum of awareness that had nothing to do with fear.

This wasn’t a stolen moment in the dark. This was something more.

She pressed against him, the need spiraling inside her, her mind unable to think past the sensation of him. Every kiss, every touch, every shift of his body sent a new rush of heat through her.

The moment hung between them, taut and breathless, until he stilled, control overtaking desire in a heartbeat.

His breath was uneven, his grip still tight at her waist, but his muscles tensed beneath her touch. A battle waged behind his eyes, one she had no doubt was taking every ounce of his control.

His thumb brushed the hollow of her throat, lingering there for just a moment, feeling the rapid beat of her pulse.

He swallowed hard. “Bridget…”

Her name was a warning, a plea, a promise all at once.

She could feel the way his body strained against the pull of logic, the way he wanted her, the way he was fighting it.

Slowly, he pulled back, just enough to break the spell.

She exhaled sharply, her body still singing with the remnants of his touch. “You regret this,” she whispered, barely able to find her voice.

His hand cupped her cheek, his touch gentle but unyielding. “Never.”

Her breath caught, but before she could speak, he leaned in, pressing one last kiss to the corner of her lips, soft, reverent, a promise of what would come.

Then, with great effort, he stepped away.

“We can’t,” he murmured, raking a hand through his hair. “Not here. Not now.”

She studied him in the moonlight, not hurt, not wounded, but knowing.

He wouldn’t always stop. And when that moment came… neither of them would hold back.

She swallowed, her body still thrumming with the remnants of pleasure, but she understood.

He was not rejecting her. He was protecting something between them, something fragile, something not yet spoken.

She nodded once, unable to speak, but he must have seen her acceptance, because the tension in his shoulders eased.

Still, he did not step away entirely. His fingers trailed down her arm, lingering at her wrist before his hand finally dropped to his side.

The sea whispered below, steady and unrelenting like the pull between them, impossible to ignore.

“Come,” he said softly. “It’s late.”

But as they walked back toward the manor, the night air between them crackled with something unfinished, something not yet claimed.

Something that neither of them would be able to deny much longer.