Georgia might think I’m an asshole for letting her yearn for me for all these years, but she doesn’t understand… it has to be that way. The moment I reach out and grab her is the moment she loses her freedom to leave. If I claim her for myself, I’m never letting go.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” I murmur lowly, looking down at her. “You think you want this, Georgia, but you don’t understand…”

“I know what I want, Lee.”

I’m terrified she’s wrong, but my self-control has abraded watching her with someone else tonight, and she’s tugging on the frayed threads.

I reach out a hand, sliding my fingers through the silky strands of her hair and cupping her face. “I can’t lose you.”

Her big eyes soften as she looks up at me, bathed in moonlight. “You don’t have to,” she says softly.

Behind us, the wealthy and elite celebrate like the world outside the opulent mansion doesn’t exist, but my whole world is standing in front of me.

Every day I look forward to seeing this woman.

Every night I think about what it would be like to have her in bed beside me.

Maybe I’ve been fooling myself thinking I could hold on to her longer if we only blurred lines instead of actually crossing them.

Especially when crossing them seems like such fun…

Before I can think too much about what I’m doing, my grip on her tightens and I pull her close.

Her lips part, a soft gasp of surprise escaping them as her green eyes widen. I release her hair, my hand sliding down the delicate column of her throat. My other hand grips her waist. I walk her back until she’s pressed against the car, then I close the distance between us.

“Lee,” she whispers uncertainly.

But the time for uncertainty has passed, and the sound of my name on her lips, the breathy quality of her voice when she knows she’s about to be kissed…

There’s no uncertainty in my steely grip as I hold on to her and lower my face toward hers.

Chapter Seven

Georgia

My heart threatens to beat out of my chest as Lee drifts closer. My chest constricts, making it harder and harder to breathe.

This can’t actually be happening.

But it does.

His lips touch mine, and my heart explodes on contact.

I can’t breathe, but I don’t need to.

A chill dances down my arms from the chilly December weather, but he’s all I need to keep warm.

I twine my arms around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer as he crushes me against the limousine. It seems the first taste made him hungrier; his hand leaves my waist and snakes down my hip until he’s grabbing my thigh, lifting it and making room for himself between them.