Page 34 of Stealing Cinder

I’m unable to think or breathe. All I can do is feel for the first time in months.

His warmth. The strength of his arms holding me like I’m precious to him. The taste of whiskey and smoke on his lips. The rough drag of his beard against my chin. The low sound he makes in the back of his throat when I press closer, barely audible.

Five months of surviving on willpower and the flutter of my baby, reminding me to eat, to rest, to keep moving when nothing else could.

And now his mouth is on mine, the word "wife" ringing in my ears.

My hands are flat against his chest. All I have to do is push him away and walk out. I keep full control.

Instead, I pull him closer.

CHAPTER 10

CINDER

The kiss ends before I'm ready to let it go.

Samuel pulls back and presses his forehead against mine, his breath warm on my lips. My fingers are still flat against his bare chest, his heart drumming steady under my palm while mine hammers against my ribs.

Wind bites through the shirt on my shoulders and raises goosebumps along my bare thighs. Beyond Samuel, an enforcer materializes from the tree line and pulls the iron gates shut. The heavy clang of metal on metal echoes across the grounds. A second enforcer appears near the east perimeter, rifle slung low across his chest. I count two more patrolling the fence line before they dissolve back into the shadows.

"Let’s go inside." His voice drops low, rough around the vowels. "You're shaking."

I am. My whole body vibrates with cold, adrenaline, and whatever this man does to my nervous system every time he puts his mouth on mine. My heart is still racing from his kiss, the heat of it trapped under my skin while the cold works to steal it away.

“Gentlemen, please join us.”

Boots crunch over gravel behind us. Oliver, Bastian, and Valerian fall into step, their weapons already holstered.

Samuel wraps an arm around my shoulders and steers me toward the entrance. I don't fight him. My legs are barely holding and my bare feet sting against the cold pavers where I kicked off those ridiculous heels.

The front door closes behind us and the air inside is nearly as cold as the air outside. Samuel keeps his house frigid, the kind of cold that sinks into bare skin and stays. But the floors tell a different story. Heated concrete, dark and seamless, pushes warmth up through the soles of my feet and my toes spread against the smooth surface. I let out a breath I've been holding since Edgar slapped my ass back in my father’s kitchen.

That feels like hours ago, but in reality less than forty-five minutes have passed.

Samuel guides me through a corridor of glass and steel into a massive living room anchored by a wall of windows that stretches the entire length of the space. Beyond the glass, landscape lights cast a faint silver-green glow over sculpted hedges and stone pathways that disappear into the black. The garden is still. Eerily beautiful, like a sleeping graveyard wrapped in silver moonlight.

I cast around for any signs of home life. But there are no photographs on the walls. No clutter on any of the surfaces. There’s absolutely no sign that anyone laughs in this place or leaves a coffee mug on the counter without thinking about it. Every surface is bare.

Oliver, Bastian, and Valerian file in behind us. I track their presence by the weight of their footsteps on the concrete and the shift of energy that fills the room. Oliver crosses to the far wall and leans his weight against it, scanning the grounds. Smart. I wouldn't trust the darkness either. Not after tonight.

Bastian drops onto the arm of a leather chair and rolls his sleeves down. Valerian stands near the entryway, scarred fingers working a fresh cigar from his breast pocket, the cherry tip flaring orange when he lights it.

My God. That man needs an intervention.

My hand drifts to my belly. I catch myself and force it to my side, but Samuel's gaze follows the movement. He tracks my fingers, a warm smile playing over his lips.

Tears blur the edge of my vision. The adrenaline has burned off and left behind a raw, exposed nerve that pulses with every beat of my heart. The last five months crash into the last hour and the weight of all of it presses down on my shoulders until my knees threaten to fold.

He holds me to him as we look out over his garden.

"Your wife?" The word catches in my throat. I force it out because I need to hear him explain the grenade he tossed at my feet outside.

Samuel's hand comes up, his knuckles dragging a slow stroke across my cheekbone. He doesn't answer the question. His eyes hold steady on mine. Dark brown. Patient.

"I love the way your hand never strays far from your middle." His palm glides over the swell of my belly and spreads wide, his scarred fingers curving around the bump with a tenderness that makes my knees go soft. "You're beautiful, Cinder. Glowing." He picks a piece of plaster out of my hair and flicks it away.

My throat tightens. I don't have a response for that. Not here, not when I'm covered in plaster dust, have the worst outfit on and feel like my world has caved in.