Page 35 of Ballrooms & Blackmail

A monster? No. I’ve known a monster. I was married to one, I survived him. This man in front of me?—

“You are not a monster.”

He shakes his head, starts to pull back, but I cover his hand with mine and step closer—so close the toes of our shoes brush, so close I can feel the strength of him, the heat of him.

“River—”

I squeeze. “You’re not.”

His forehead lowers slowly against mine and he exhales. “You don’t know me, little hen.”

“I know enough.”

“River.”

I shift closer. Then closer still. I shift until our bodies touch.

And it feels…

Good. Right. Perfect.

Like finally giving into something I’ve wanted but pushed down for months now.

Maybe because tonight burned away my fear.

Maybe because I’ve watched Thorn over these weeks, because I’ve learned who he truly is.

Maybe because I’m tired of being afraid of this man.

He’s not a monster.

He’s not.

I tilt my head up, part my lips and?—

Stop. Because I can’t quite touch my mouth to his, can’t quite close that last inch between us. His hand shifts, sliding into my hair, gently cupping the back of my head.

“Thorn,” I murmur, the yearning in my voice audible even to my own ears.

His eyes flare with heat, with need, with want. Then he leans in, his breath brushing over my lips. “Need you to give me the words, little hen.”

“Kiss me,” I whisper. “Please kiss me, Thorn.”

A groan rumbles up in his throat and then his mouth is on mine and…

It’s soft. Gentle. Not hungry. Not possessive.

Careful.

Like Thorn is terrified I might break beneath his hands.

And that…God, it pisses me off.

I’m a survivor. I’m not breakable. I’m not weak.

I dive my hands into his hair, part my lips, and then…I kiss him. With all the need I’ve been burying, with all the yearning I’ve been shoving down, with all the heat that burns in my belly as our bodies press together.

I moan, slip my tongue into his mouth, and the kiss turns frantic, as though he’s feeling all those things too.