Chapter 46
FORTY-SIX
KEIRA
We're getting sloppy.
I know it. He knows it. Neither of us seems interested in stopping.
It starts with stolen moments.
His fingers brushing mine when I pass him after dinner.
A look that holds half a second too long across the foyer.
His hand on the small of my back when I walk through a doorway, lingering in a way that would expose us if anyone were paying attention.
Stolen kisses in dark corners—hurried and desperate. Seconds we can't afford to take.
It's dangerous, but we don't care anymore.
That's what makes it irresponsible.
I'm allowing myself to get lost in the thrill of it, and then I forget what's at stake. It's turning into a need I can't seem to go without.
But then it stops being small altogether.