Page 48 of Severed Heart (The Ravenhood Legacy #2)

“It was a different time,” she utters as I pull her closer, taking liberties because while she might be buzzed, I’m already drunk on her. It’s while listening that my chest bounces at the irony. I lean down and begin to whisper in her ear.

“Oh, she was so beautiful, I dared not to love her. Oh, she was so beautiful, I cannot forget her.”

It takes a few seconds for me to realize she’s stopped dancing and is gaping at me. “You truly are fluent.”

“I have two French best friends.” I shrug. “So it made sense to opt for French instead of Spanish.” Though I don’t mention, I’m fluent in both and adding German by the day.

“It’s humiliating you can speak my language so fluently after such a short education while I’m still trying very hard to master yours,” she admits sheepishly.

“You’re succeeding.”

“Maybe verbally, but my texting is still terrible,” she whispers.

“It’s perfect to me,” I murmur, dropping my eyes so she can’t read what I’m hiding.

Of what I’m becoming more certain of, especially after talking to my mom about what her ailments are, where they might stem from, and how.

It’s a serious discussion we need to have, but the when of relaying this is tricky—along with her responsiveness to the conversation.

The moon sinks further between the branches of the oak as I glance away briefly to try to regain my bearings. The wind kicks up slightly, and the rain is still light, more of a drizzle lining our skin with droplets.

“Well, maybe one day, when you forgive me, you’ll let me practice my French with you.”

“I told you I will never forgive you,” she counters. “When are you leaving?”

“That hasn’t changed since our fight.” I grip her tighter. “The end of summer. Which is still months away, General. We have time to fish, swim, play Battle, and watch movies. Anything you want.”

“Imbecile,” she spouts, hurling the insult without giving a damn whether it hits or not. “Why, Tyler?”

“Stop. You understand why,” I scold, cutting the bullshit, and her eyes drop with that win. “You couldn’t possibly be reviving this argument because you’re going to miss me?” I ask, point-blank. One last stretch of my hand, of my fucking heart.

“Hmm, one less mouth to feed,” she jabs, her eyes lifting to mine as a soft smile tilts her lips. A smile that guts me. Another dismissal.

“As if you cook,” I jibe back, my tone lacking life before I press our tethered fingers into my chest. “Tu vas me manquer.” I’ll miss you.

She stills briefly, but I don’t miss it—the hesitation. We continue to sway until the song ends, and another begins to play. “So, what’s got you in the dancing mood tonight?”

“I don’t know,” she lies, “what puts you in a mood?”

“Lots of things,” I answer just as vaguely.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” she reproaches as we continue to hold each other like the world is fucking ending while making small talk. She’s lying about her mood, her eyes reflective of that as the need to confront her summons all the willpower I have left.

“Doing what?” I counter in a tone of clear condescension.

She looks up at me through thick black lashes. “Mimics... mimicking me.”

“Ah, well, you’re currently doling out bullshit like a Pez dispenser, so I didn’t think you would mind.”

She wrinkles her perfect nose, and the light smattering of freckles is more pronounced due to her short length of time in the spring sun—with me.

“What is a Pez?”

“A sweet candy that comes in small doses.” I widen my eyes. “Kind of like your good moods.”

“And you’re ruining it with your smart mouth,” she quips.

“Liar,” I rasp out. “You love my smart mouth. You love that I spar with you.”

A few beats pass as we stare on at one another, fully absorbed before she speaks, her tone clearly affected. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Maybe I’ll miss my soldier.” Her voice shakes with the delivery, as does the last of my patience.

Unable to handle another second, I grip the back of her head and tilt her face up to mine. “How much?”

Her eyes search mine frantically, and I see a hint of fear before she tries to pull away from me.

“Tyler—”

“Tell me I’m imagining what’s been happening between us, and I’ll call you out on that lie.”

“You are.”

“God dammit, stop it,” I scratch out, gripping her tighter, “ enough .”

She immediately starts spouting out some reasoning I know is contrived. “We’ve been spending much time together and have a very strong friendship and care for one another deeply. There can be nothing more. Don’t be an imbecile. You’re a young boy.”

I take her blow and rebound just as quickly.

“I’m both a man and the soldier you helped to create, and you’ve done an incredible job of ignoring it these last few weeks, fucking months, but I’m not alone in this anymore, even if you don’t want it to be true.”

“You’re doing exactly what I told you not to do that night,” she says adamantly, still trying to loosen herself from my grip.

“What night?” I ask, knowing exactly what night things started to shift and perking up at her mention of it. “And what was it you told me?”

“Not to make promises that you won’t keep. Saying things—”

“You heard me.” Her eyes instantly drop, confirming she heard the whisper I left her with the night of her date.

Fire lights in my veins at the truth of it.

“Nice try, General, but your most important lesson about being a watcher, an observer is pinpointing motive. If you ignore that you heard it, you don’t have to acknowledge it happened.

You fucking heard me whisper those words to you and know I meant them,” I declare, cupping her face with my palm while bending eye level. “Are you drunk?”

“Why?”

“Are. You. Drunk?”

“Tyler, I—”

“Like I’d fucking care if you were.” I force whatever words she starts to convey away as I crush her mouth with mine, my kiss anything but gentle.

Gripping her hip, I pull her fully into me, and she gasps against my lips, feeling just how fucking hard I am— everywhere— for her.

Her return kiss is hesitant as I rebuke any resistance with the swipe of my tongue demanding entry, and she slowly, so slowly, opens for me.

Groaning due to the permission, I thrust in and feel her breath catch as I taste and explore, licking the roof of her mouth. Delving into every corner, I savor the feel of it, relieved by the fact she’s kissing me back.

She’s kissing me back.

Our tentative kiss turns wildfire as I dive in fully, my lust in overdrive.

Her moan vibrates my tongue as I groan in response, my body lit, every muscle coiling as I let myself go—fusing every thought, every fantasy, every single memory of her I can conjure into my kiss.

Palming her ass, I lift her as she clasps her hands behind my neck, curling into me as I roll her against my length so she can feel what she does to me.

Rain begins to pelt the iron table feet away, the storm intensifying around us, mirroring the culmination of emotions inside me as I devour her, fusing them into the contact. Inhaling every one of her moans as fuel, I keep the connection, keeping the kiss going while refusing to let up.

Now that I’m positive it’s mutual, I’m not fucking letting it go. As if she senses that decision, she pulls back abruptly.

“Mon Dieu,” she pants against my lips before glancing around us frantically, “what am I doing? Tyler, put me down.”

“We’re alone, Delphine.” I blow out a harsh breath, not loosening my arms one bit. “Don’t pull away from me. Damn you,” I whisper hoarsely. “We both want this .”

“Are you crazy? Put me down right now,” she orders, more insistently, even as her eyes linger on my lips.

Seizing the moment once more, I capture her mouth, and her whimpered protest brings my cock to a raging status. The kiss cut far too short when she again rips herself away.

“Tyler,” she croaks, in a way I know her protest is hard won, “let me down.” Reluctantly, I release her slowly—keeping her close as possible as I do—so she can feel just how fucking much I want her.

Her fast intake of breath my only consolation.

Once on her feet, she turns abruptly to head back toward the house.

Bending from the impact, I palm my thighs with a low “fuck” before she turns back to me on a dime.

“This never happened.” Her voice carries on the increasing wind surrounding us.

“Oh, it happened,” I snap, stalking toward her as she retreats, backing her against the brick of the house next to the open door. “We’re not breaking any fucking laws, and before you go spouting off about age and what’s appropriate, save your breath. I’m not listening to that bullshit.”

Chest heaving, her nipples spike through her dampening tube top as her body naturally draws up against me. The dim yellow porch light illuminating us enough to clearly see one another as I stand my ground.

“Denying it won’t make it true,” I whisper forcefully. “That kiss said differently, and you’re not going to convince me otherwise.”

She shakes her head incredulously. “You expect me to take this ... you seriously?”

“Yes, and when I get back from—”

“Never.” She jerks her chin. “I don’t wait for men.”

“Then I’ll be your first because I’m worth waiting for.”

She gapes at me. “Confessions of a boy with misplaced affection.”

“Declarations of a fucking man who’s already matured beyond his years. I haven’t been a boy in a long time because my life and the people in it made it that way. And you know it, you fucking know it. Ask me in a year how I feel about you, and I’ll say the same, and the year after that.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” she dismisses.

“I haven’t even begun because you’ve refused to let me, so why don’t you hear me out before you turn me down.” I swallow. The need inside to convince her to believe me has every word coming out raw and unrehearsed, never truly thinking I’d get the chance to utter any of them.