“Farah, I’ve been fighting the desire to take you in my arms for so long, it’s like it’s become a new limb. An unwanted one. And unwieldy one. But one I have to bear.”

She blinked up at him.

“But…Elena,” she whispered.

“What about Elena?” he inquired.

“What about Elena?” she breathed, her eyes enormous, glowing more golden than the globes around them.

“That’s what I asked.”

“You’re in love with her.”

“I was. And then I met you.”

She swayed into his body to such an extent, he had no choice but to do what he’d have done anyway.

He caught her in his arms.

She felt good there.

As always.

“Really?” she asked, not hiding her shock.

He was not shocked.

He was annoyed.

“I’ve hardly been hiding it.”

“I thought you were…to be nice, well…faking it. For me.”

Yes.

Annoyed.

“I would not fake finding you irresistibly attractive, incredibly good company, endearing, kind, intelligent—”

“All right,” she interrupted him. “So why—?” she stopped herself speaking, slid a hand up his chest to his neck and whispered, “Oh, True.”

She did not need him to tell her why he had held himself back.

“You needed time,” he muttered.

“Thank you, bello. But please trust my assessment of my own self when I assure you, I don’t need any more time.”

“We have an audience.”

She was coming up on her toes, pressing closer, her other hand gliding up his chest toward his neck.

“Who cares,” she murmured.

“Farah.”

“Kiss me.”

Her hand had made his neck, and both were sliding into his hair, her fingers putting pressure on.

“Farah,” he warned.

“Kiss me, True,” she demanded.

Bloody hell.

He couldn’t deny her.

And he couldn’t deny himself.

Not with her being like this.

Not just with her being her.

Not any longer.

He kissed her.

The moment his lips touched hers, his entire body came alert and his gut started to warm.

When her lips parted under his, and his tongue instinctively snaked out, joining their mouths, his skin tightened all over his frame and his gut and chest started to burn.

He pulled her closer, angling his head, his tongue dancing with hers, not like it was the first time they danced, like they’d known the other for eternity.

Her smell.

Sublime.

Her taste.

Outstanding.

The feel of her soft body pressed to his.

Superlative.

It was the best kiss he’d ever had.

She was the taste of destiny.

Destiny mixed with love.

To end, it was bloody, fucking fantastic.

He broke their lips, murmuring, “Darling.”

“I think maybe,” she breathed, “if you do not wish to…” She didn’t finish that. She concluded, “You should sleep in another room tonight.”

It was good to know the kiss affected her the same.

And fucking frustrating as all hell.

“I think this wise.”