Page 269 of The Rules

Kath gasped, the sound torn from her throat as if his confession struck something physical. Her hands flew to his shoulders, clutching like she needed to anchor herself to the moment—or drown in it.

He wasn’t finished. His mouth brushed her ear, hot breath trembling with all the fury and ache he could no longer contain.

“I wish I knew how to say this better,” he growled, voice ragged with frustration. “But I fucking don’t. I don’t know how to explain it—so you’ll have to settle for this.”

And just like that—everything inside her shattered.

Because there was no surviving a man who loved like that.

???

The light filters in through half-open blinds, soft and golden, washing everything in a warm haze like the night before didn’t leave them bruised, breathless, and new.

Kath wakes first.

She doesn’t move—not at first. Just lies there, cheek pressed against Ben’s chest, her arm draped across his stomach, the slow, steady rise and fall of his breathing anchoring her in the present.

He’s so still, sounlikethe man the world sees. No steel.

No sharp edges. Just skin and breath and warmth.

She lifts her head, just enough to look at him.

His face is softer in sleep. Younger. Like time hasn't had a chance to harden him yet.His eyes are closed, lashes fanned low, mouth slightly parted. He looks… human. Breakable.

Hers.

She exhales through her nose, barely a sound, and lets her fingertips drift over his chest. A lazy, wandering touch. Tracing the shape of his collarbone, the slight dip between his ribs.

Ben shifts under her hand—barely. Then his arm tightens around her waist, slow and sure, like even asleep he knows exactly where she is and he’s not letting go.

His voice is rough when it comes, low and coated in sleep.

“Mm. You’re staring.”

Kath hums, her lips brushing his skin. “Just wondering how you ever convinced people you’re terrifying when you look like this.”

He lets out a soft laugh—a real laugh—that rumbles through his chest and into her. His eyes blink open, lazy and dark, and he stretches onto his back, pulling her with him like a blanket he refuses to give up.

She lands half on top of him, thigh hooked over his, her cheek resting against the edge of his jawline. He doesn’t seem to mind. She doesn’t either.

Ben shifts beneath her, one hand drifting over her bare back, lazy and possessive in the most casual, infuriatingly perfect way.

His voice comes quieter than before, like it’s been waiting. Measured.Meant.

“I didn’t get a chance to say it before,” he says, his fingers tracing the dip of her spine, “and maybe I should’ve said it the second you walked out the courtroom—”

He pauses, just long enough to make her look up.

“—but watching you in that room? Facing them like that?”

A quiet shift crosses his face—the memory sharpening his features. “You were calm. Precise. You didn’t flinch. You knew exactly what needed to be said, and you made them listen.”

There’s no teasing in his tone. No smirk.

Just pride. And something deeper. Something like awe.

“You were powerful,” he murmurs, brushing a kiss to her temple. “Unshakable. The kind of woman people don’t forget once she’s made up her mind.”