Leo’s raking his eyes over me in the mirror as the heat of his body meets mine. I can’t take my eyes off him. He’s stunning. Dark eyes, dark hair, and so much power under his skin that the closet is too small to contain it. His gaze is so focused it feels like a physical touch. He follows it with one, wrapping a big hand around my wrist and tugging my arm behind my back. The other arm. He pins both wrists and pulls me back, close as he can get me, and peers at our reflection, satisfaction curving his mouth into the suggestion of a smile.

I look caught. Breathless. My chest rises and falls under the dress, faster now that he’s here, and the pink in my cheeks is deeper now. With his free hand, he traces a fingertip over my bare neck. For a fraction of an instant the pad of his finger tests my pulse. If I didn’t know better, I’d think this was only about making me hot and wet, which of course it does. But I do know better. Leo likes to make sure my heart is still beating. It doesn’t seem to matter that he can see me breathing. Feeling is believing.

True for me, too. Sometimes, when I wake in the night from a terrible dream, the throb of Leo’s heartbeat is the only convincing thing.

He bows his head and kisses the side of my neck, his eyes on mine in the reflection. I really am going to stop breathing if he keeps doing that. It’s the same way he looked at me from between my thighs when he proposed.

“Pardon?” he murmurs, and kisses the same spot again. Slower this time, with a glancing nip that won’t leave a mark. Heat chases away the tension in my muscles and I give him my weight. It’s not possible for him to hold me up with my wrists in one hand. It shouldn’t be possible. “I didn’t hear what you said, darling. I was looking at the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

I search out the leather of his belt and hold on. With my hands behind my back like this, I look like a captive. Fine. Good, even. I’m going to belong to him for the rest of my life. “It’s more than I—”

Leo turns my head and kisses me, and it’s the kind of kiss that would ruin the work of a stylist. Deep and possessive and biting. He tastes like mint and cold, though he hasn’t been outside. I didn’t think I could get more boneless and helpless, but it happens. I’m liquid. He’s stone. I’m out of air by the time he lets me up again, turning my face back to the mirror for me.