*Everly*
I wait several heartbeats, taking in shallow breaths, working to regain my composure. I unfurl my hands. my nails have dug into my palms. I have come close to drawing blood. When I am sure I am no longer needing the wall for support, I walk on trembling legs to the table, lift the wine bottle, and begin pouring what remains into my glass. I am quite glad he is gone. Or so I tell myself. The alternative is to wish he had stayed, and had he stayed, I have little doubt that things between us would not have ended with the kiss.
If not for his silly rule, I would have melted against him, entwined my arms around him, might even … to my immense shame … have begged him to carry me to his bedchamber. He is so skilled at stirring heat and passion, such torrid heat and passion. Considering
