3 #3
‘Brave girl,’ he purrs, turning his head towards me as his broad shoulder shifts until his forearm rubs against mine. The chains clink and clank, their chill brushing over my forearms where they rest on the table.
I fix my eyes on the page, the print – anything that might keep me tethered, but the words blur and scatter. I drag my focus back one breath at a time.
When he speaks, his voice is close enough that I feel it like a vibration in my breastbone before the words register. ‘Didn’t they teach you to keep away from bears?’ he whispers. ‘Even wounded ones?’
I keep my face still while my pulse drums hard enough to make a liar of me. ‘Too late now.’
His smile unfurls unhurriedly.
‘Too late,’ he echoes.
And stares.
And the longer he does, the more convinced I become that this may have been my final stupid, reckless mistake.
Then he lifts the book in one hand, thumb bracing the spine flat against his palm. He clears his throat and drops his eyes to the page, but the smile stays put.
Rough, sleep-warm, his voice is everything a woman would want when listening to this kind of thing, but it is far too intimate for a visitation room with steel bolted into the floor.
‘He sank to his knees as if worship and sin were the same thing, and she stopped breathing when his mouth found her centre.’
‘Oh my God!’ I yelp. Heat strikes through me so fast it almost feels like a slap.
He pauses – glances at me – amusement glinting under those unfairly thick lashes, then goes on. ‘With each flick of his tongue—’
‘I’ll get you another book,’ I cut in, pressing my palm over the text, careful not to touch him.
‘Mm.’ He moves my hand and turns the page with exasperating calm, paper whispering under his fingers. ‘I’m broadening my horizons. Be quiet.’
I blow out a breath, which only makes his smile stretch into a full grin.
‘With each flick of his tongue, her knees shook, her cries echoed in the dungeon—’
‘There’s a dungeon?’ I interrupt, cheeks burning as I lean forward to read several paragraphs ahead to brace for whatever dreadful scene comes next.
‘Oh yes.’ His tone turns almost scholarly. ‘His mouth finds her centre in the dungeon, the woods… there may even have been a haystack.’ He flips back a few pages with theatrical offence. ‘And I’m only on page twenty-eight. Imagine what decadence awaits her later.’
Then, abruptly, he snaps the book shut and offers it to me.
I stare at it.
‘Go on then – broaden your horizons with me,’ he teases.
There’s not enough air in the room.
I stare at the black rose on the cover for a full beat as if it might be contagious, but I take it anyway – and promptly hide my face behind it.
His chuckle curves round the spine.
‘I’m… so… sorry.’ Mortification bleeds in steady streams out of me.
‘That’s alright.’ The dark drawl has my hands lowering the book without meaning to, until I find myself an inch from Crane’s face. ‘If anything,’ he says, smirk still in place, ‘I’ve learnt a trick or two.’
I’ve never been this close to him before.
Close enough to see the faint lines at the corners of his eyes, the darker shadow along his jaw, the tiny imperfections distance had always blurred away.
My gaze moves over his face with shameless fascination, caught on details I’ve only ever studied from behind the lens – the one I am now gripping too tightly.
Recovering from the emotional roller coaster he pushed me into, I glance down at the cover as if it might offer answers. ‘Trick?’
‘Mm-hm.’ His eyes move to my lips. ‘Like… how pace matters more than pressure.’
I blink fast a few times as if sense has left me entirely.
My fingers clamp tighter on the cover.
‘How simple silk sheets can turn into restraints.’ He leans in just enough for the chain to hiss over concrete. ‘And how the obvious move isn’t always the one that makes someone come undone hardest.’
‘Crane—’ I shoot to my feet, flustered. ‘I’m really sorry about this. Lesson learnt. I’ll make sure to get you books I’ve read first myse—’
‘How are the wedding arrangements going?’
I snap my head towards him.
The heat in my cheeks dies in an instant.
My fingers leave the camera hanging against my front and close around the ring until the zircon bites my palm. There’s a weight within my chest that feels as if it’s about to drop straight out of me.
He wears a different mask now; his mouth is a straight line, and his eyes pin me where I stand as if they could fire clean through me.
‘Fine,’ I breathe, the forefinger of my other hand rubbing the edge of the book. ‘They’re going fine.’
He doesn’t break eye contact. The chain lies still between his hands; the room is suddenly strip-light and concrete again.
‘Mm.’ His gaze trickles down to my hand. To the ring.
‘You should work on that answer,’ he says quietly. ‘You blush when I read filth and freeze when I mention your wedding. That doesn’t look good, Leah.’
It would feel less like a slap if he actually slapped me.
‘My wedding is none of your business, Crane,’ I manage.
His eyes soften and he cocks his head slightly.
‘Guard?’ I call.
When the uniform opens the door, I’m still standing there with the book clutched to my chest. My engagement ring presses cold against the cover. I can’t seem to loosen my grip on either one.
Finally, I slide the book over the table towards him.
As I leave, I can still feel his eyes on me.
The humiliating part is not that he called me out on it. It’s that before the door has even shut behind me, I’m already wondering when I can come back and let him do it again.