“Yes, Iris,” Christian replies, his voice low and dangerous. “There are still ways to protect you. Even here, at the end of the world. I wish you’d just let me.” “Fine,” I say, my voice too light, too casual. Christian narrows his eyes, trying to figure out my game. I lift my drink to him in a lit
“They’re going to…pick a side,” Christian says, looking down at his drink, a muscle flicking in his jaw. “Really?” I ask, my voice breathy, my brows going up. “And…wait, are you serious? They wouldn’t choose you?” “My side is the losing side,” he snaps, unintentional, moving his eyes up to meet
We move out of the kitchen then, Christian making his way back to the little iron fireplace to continue stacking some logs while I head into the bathroom for a quick shower, wanting to wash the day off of me before we settle down for the night. I take my whiskey with me, wanting the peaceful buzz it
I gasp when I see what it is – one of our absolute favorites from childhood, and a start to a trilogy that I realize, suddenly, we’re going to be spending our entire evening working our way through. “This is amazing,” I say, laughing aloud, my eyes going wide as the opening credits start to roll ove
I lose myself completely to it for a second – to the feel of Christian’s mouth moving against mine, to the way his hair feels against my fingers as I slip them through his hair, to the way his hand slides down along my side with intent, with reverence. But when that palm hits one of the bruises on
“Why are you laughing?” he asks, his brows drawing together. “What on earth is funny about this?” “It’s just,” I say, dropping my hands and hoping that my face shows him how sorry I am. But still, I continue, not quite buying it. “Chris,” I say, holding out a hand between us, “you can’t say that y
Christian leans closer to me, cupping my face in his palm. “You’re real to me, Iris,” he whispers, holding my gaze steadily in a way that makes me catch my breath. “You’re maybe…the only real person in my life. Okay?” Slowly I nod, hearing him. He leans forward and presses his lips softly, almos
“Oh, well, I like it,” I say with a happy, contented sigh as I turn my head and press my cheek to his chest. “Yeah, but you’re weird,” he whispers. And I grin, and don’t counter, looking around and admiring the way that the sunlight filters into the room of the little beach cottage, falling in lov