The morning after shouldn't have felt like this.
Amber stood at the tall windows of the estate's library, sunlight spilling through the glass and painting golden streaks across the floor. But inside, she felt anything but warm.
She touched her lips, still swollen from Nathan's kiss. The memory played over and over like a forbidden melody, sweet and sinful. She'd barely slept. Her dreams were filled with his hands, his voice, the way he looked at her like she was breakable—and he wanted to break her anyway.
"Did you think you could run from that?" a voice said behind her.
She turned, heart leaping.
Nathan.
He was dressed sharp this time. Suit fitted, hair slicked back, but his eyes… his eyes were untamed. Wild.
"You shouldn't be here," she said, voice hoarse.
He walked toward her, slow and deliberate. "I wasn't planning on it. But you're all I could think about. You let me in last night, Amber. Don't pretend it didn't mean something."
"It did," she admitted, backing toward the bookshelf behind her. "That's the problem."
He paused inches away, one hand reaching to cage her in. "Tell me to stop," he said, voice low and rough. "Say it now, and I'll walk away."
She swallowed, throat dry. His body was a breath from hers. She could feel the heat rolling off him, see the restraint trembling in his jaw.
But she didn't want him to stop. She wanted more. Even if it ruined her.
"I can't," she whispered.
That was all it took.
His mouth was on her again—harder this time, deeper. His hand gripped the back of her neck, the other sliding down her side like he was learning her by touch alone. Amber gasped into his kiss as her back hit the bookshelf. Her legs felt weak, her pulse frantic.
Nathan's lips moved to her jaw, down her throat, grazing that tender spot that made her shiver. "You feel this too," he growled. "Don't lie to me."
"I'm not," she moaned, tilting her head back, surrendering. "I've never felt anything like this."
His hand slipped beneath her blouse, fingers brushing the curve of her waist. He didn't rush. He explored.
Then, just as quickly, he stopped.
He pulled back, breathing hard, forehead pressed to hers.
"I want all of you," he said. "But not like this. Not against a damn bookshelf when you deserve a bed full of rose petals and a thousand whispered promises."
Amber blinked, stunned by the shift in his voice. The hunger was still there, but beneath it—something deeper. Something that terrified her.
"What do you want from me?" she asked.
He smiled, dark and devastating. "Everything."