Maybe I will change my mind with time. Maybe in a few years, I will feel differently. Less scared. For now, though, I am sharply cognizant of the fact that our life will never be a fairy tale. Julian is not a good man—and I’m no longer a good woman.

That should worry me… and maybe tomorrow it will. At this moment, however, feeling his warmth surrounding me, I am only aware of a deepening sense of peace, of a certainty that this is right.

That this is where I belong.

Raising my hand, I trace my fingers across his half-healed lips, feeling the sensual shape of them in the darkness.

“Will you ever let me go?” I murmur, remembering our long-ago conversation.

His lips twitch in a faint smile. He remembers too. “No,” he replies softly. “Never.”

We lie in silence for a few moments, and then he asks quietly, “Do you want me to let you go?”

“No, Julian.” I close my eyes, a smile curving my own lips. “Never.”

Hold Me

Twist Me: Book 3

I

The Return

1

Julian

A gasping cry wakes me up, dragging me out of restless sleep. My uninjured eye flies open on a rush of adrenaline, and I jackknife to a sitting position, the sudden movement causing my cracked ribs to scream in protest. The cast on my left arm bangs into the heart-rate monitor next to the bed, and the wave of agony is so intense that the room spins around me in a sickening swirl. My pulse is pounding, and it takes a moment to realize what woke me.

Nora.

She must be in the grip of another nightmare.

My body, coiled for combat, relaxes slightly. There’s no danger, nobody coming after us right now. I’m lying next to Nora in my luxurious hospital bed, and we’re both safe, the clinic in Switzerland as secure as Lucas can make it.

The pain in my ribs and arm is better now, more tolerable. Moving more carefully, I place my right hand on Nora’s shoulder and try to gently shake her awake. She’s turned away from me, facing in the opposite direction, so I can’t see her face to check if she’s crying. Her skin, however, is cold and damp from sweat. She must’ve been having the nightmare for a while. She’s also shivering.

“Wake up, baby,” I murmur, stroking her slender arm. I can see the light filtering through the blinds on the window, and I know it must be morning. “It’s just a dream. Wake up, my pet…”

She stiffens under my touch, and I know she’s not fully awake, the nightmare still holding her captive. Her breathing is coming in audible, gasping bursts, and I can feel the tremors running through her body. Her distress claws at me, hurting me worse than any injury, and the knowledge that I’m again responsible for this—that I failed to keep her safe—makes my insides burn with acidic fury.

Fury at myself and at Peter Sokolov—the man who allowed Nora to risk her life to rescue me.