Page 18 of Until She’s Mine

Lucian

R ain streaks the Mercedes’s windows as I drive Evelyn back to the city.

The rain began the moment we left the Lockwood party, turning the winding roads slick and treacherous.

The headlights cut through the downpour, illuminating the occasional tree or road sign before they vanish into the darkness again.

Evelyn sits in the passenger seat, her dress pools over my leather upholstery, and the damp fabric is dripping onto the floor mat.

“Put this on.” I give her my jacket, the lining still warm from my body.

She doesn’t move. Her fingers pluck at the ruined chiffon overlay. In the passing streetlights, the bruise already blossoms along her wrist where Tobias grabbed her; five perfect fingerprints in violent violet.

I hit the autopilot and reach across the console. Her pulse flutters like a caged bird under my thumb as I trace the mark. “He’ll never touch you again.”

The words taste like a vow. One I intend to keep, regardless of cost.

Evelyn meets my gaze. Raindrops cling to her lashes, magnifying the gold flecks in her hazel eyes. “What happens now?”

“Now, you’ll let me take care of everything.”

Her breath hitches, and she looks away, her gaze fixed on the blur of lights outside. “You can’t fix this, Lucian.”

“I can and I will. Tobias is a coward. He’ll dissolve your engagement contract, and he’ll stay out of your life if he knows what’s good for him.”

Her fingers tighten around the edge of my jacket, her knuckles white. “And then what? Everyone at that party saw us. The rumors will start spreading before dawn. They’ll say I’m—”

“Mine,” I interrupt. “They’ll say you’re mine because you are. Let them talk, Evelyn. Let them whisper and speculate. It won’t change what’s already done.”

Her gaze softens, though the tension in her shoulders doesn’t ease. “You don’t understand. This isn’t just about me. Your father, the company, your reputation—”

“It’s none of your concern,” I say. My hand moves to hers, prying her fingers from the jacket and lacing them with mine. “My father can disown me if he wants. The company can burn for all I care. None of it matters if I don’t have you.”

Her breath catches. “You don’t mean that.”

“I’ve never meant anything more,” I say. Her hand trembles in mine, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, her fingers curl around mine tightly. She’s trying to hold herself together, but I can see the cracks forming.

Good.

She can break. I’ll be there to piece her back together.

I t’s a two-hour drive back to Tribeca. The streets are nearly empty, the storm driving even the most determined New Yorkers indoors. The radio hums low, a melancholic jazz tune that seems to mirror the tension in the car. A thread pulled taut, ready to snap.

Evelyn’s breathing evens out, though her fingers still cling to mine as if I’m her lifeline. She doesn’t speak, and neither do I. Words are unnecessary when the weight of everything unsaid hangs so heavily between us. The silence is thick, but not uncomfortable.

When we finally pull up to my building, the doorman rushes out with an umbrella, his expression carefully neutral as he opens Evelyn’s door.

She hesitates, her gaze flickering to me before she steps out into the rain.

I follow close behind, my hand resting on the small of her back, guiding her inside.

Her shoulder brushes against mine in the elevator, but I resist the urge to pull her closer, to wrap her in something more than just fabric.

The penthouse is dark when we step inside, save for the city lights bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

I turn the lights on, and Evelyn hesitates in the foyer, her gaze sweeping over the warm tones of the room—rosewood bookshelves, exposed brick walls, plush furniture.

She’s never been here before, and I watch as she takes it all in, her eyes lingering on the art pieces lining the walls.

She stops in front of a small painting by an obscure French artist. Her fingers hover over the frame.

“You have good taste.”

I step closer, until there’s barely an inch between us. “I recognize beauty when I see it.”

“Your place is beautiful,” she murmurs. “It’s different from what I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

“Something colder. More... sterile. Monochrome.”

“I like my home to feel lived-in. The manor and my office are cold enough.”

“I don’t know you at all,” Evelyn says, and there’s a note of frustration in her voice. She turns to face me, her eyes searching mine. “Not where it matters.”

“Do you want to?”

Her mouth opens, but no words come out. She wants to know me, but she’s afraid of what she’ll find. Afraid of the darkness that simmers beneath the surface, the shadows I’ve kept hidden from everyone but her.

My hand rises to her cheek, brushing away a droplet of rainwater that clings to her skin. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull away.

“Do you want to know me, Evelyn?” I repeat. My voice is rougher this time. “Because if you do, there’s no going back. Once you see the parts of me that no one else has ever seen, there’ll be no turning away.”

Her gaze flickers down to my lips, then back up, and I see the moment she makes her decision. She leans into me, and her fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt, pulling me closer.

“I’m already in too deep,” she says. “I don’t think I could walk away now even if I wanted to.”

“Good, because I’m not letting you go.”

My hand slides from her cheek to the nape, fingers tangling in the damp strands of her hair. She tilts her head back, her lips parted. The space between us disappears as I close the distance, my mouth capturing hers.

The kiss deepens, slow and lazy. Every gentle lick of my tongue and scrape of my teeth is calculated to unravel her.

Consume her. The tension in her body melts away, replaced by something far more primal.

Her breath mingles with mine, warm and sweet, and I’m overwhelmed by the taste of her, rain, and something uniquely Evelyn.

It’s intoxicating, and I want to burrow into her, crack her ribs, and crawl inside, to never be alone again.

Her fingers slide into my hair, and a low groan escapes me. I press her back against the wall, my body pinning hers as my hands roam over the curve of her waist and the dip of her spine. Her dress hugs her body, soaked from the rain, and she trembles beneath my touch, but it’s not from desire.

I break away with a ragged breath.

Her swollen lips part in a protest. “Lucian—”

“Guest room.” I step back, adjusting my cuffs to hide the tremor in my hands. “First door down the hall.”

She blinks, arousal and confusion warring in her blown pupils. “You don’t want—”

“I want.” My laugh is dark. “Christ, Evelyn. But not like this. Not when you’re shaking from adrenaline and rain.” I nod toward the hallway. “You need to change.”

“Now?” she asks in a voice that’s half protest, half plea.

“Yes,” I say firmly, though it takes every ounce of willpower to untangle myself from her. “You’ll catch a cold again if you stay in those wet clothes, and I won’t have you falling ill because of my impatience.”

Evelyn sighs. “Well, I have nothing else to wear.” She glances down at her soaked dress, then back up at me, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“There’s something in the guest room for you.”

Her brows furrow, but her voice is amused. “You planned this?”

I don’t answer immediately, instead guiding her down the hall toward the guest room with a hand still resting on her back.

The door opens to reveal a carefully curated space—soft lighting, plush rugs, and a neatly folded set of clothes laid out on the bed.

A silk robe in deep emerald, a simple white pajama set that will fit her perfectly.

Her eyes widen. “How long have you been waiting for this moment?”

“Longer than you can imagine,” I admit. My fingers brush against hers as I gesture toward the clothes. “Change. I’ll wait for you in the living room.”

With a soft nod, Evelyn steps into the room and closes the door.

No lock clicks behind her.