When I nodded, he let go of my mouth and stepped back to give me space, still holding the bottle he’d taken, and I concentrated on breathing slowly. Counting the breaths. This wasn’t Jake’s basement. Ian wasn’t Jonah. I wasn’t being punished.

But we both would be, if we got caught. Stealing a bottle of Jake’s favorite wine as a gift to him was one thing, but getting caught looting his favorite winery was something else entirely.

I stood as still as I could, waiting for Ian to pull darkness around us again, so I could walk us out of trouble. The cellar was much darker than the park had been, so it shouldn’t have been any problem. But no shadows gathered at our feet, cooling me from the toes up. No darkness built. And the voices only came closer.

I turned to glance at Ian and found him much closer than I’d expected. He was trapped between me and the wall, obviously trying to give me as much space as possible. I opened my mouth, but he pressed one finger against his own lips, still holding the bottle in his other hand.

I rolled my eyes and stepped closer until I was pressed against him, going up on my toes to whisper in his ear, acutely aware of how solid his chest felt against mine. “Make it dark, and I’ll get us out of here.”

“Can’t,” he whispered in return, so softly that it took me a minute to figure out what he’d said. Then he pointed at something behind me and I turned to find my cell phone lying on the floor across the main aisle from where we stood. It must have fallen out of my pocket, and thanks to the rubberized case, neither of us had heard it land.

We couldn’t leave without it. I wasn’t allowed to keep syndicate names or numbers programmed into my phone, but I hadn’t cleared the call list since last night, and it would only take a cursory glance through the contents to figure out who the phone belonged to, and only a phone call after that to link my name with Jake’s.

He was going to kill me.

My pulse raced again, so fast the room started to go dark around me, though the lights hadn’t faded. John Yard and his customer came closer, still discussing whatever event they were planning, and I could see them now, through the single floor-to-ceiling rack of wine separating me and Ian from the main open area. Which meant they could see us, too, if they glanced our way. Or if any movement from us drew their attention.

“Shh…” Ian whispered into my ear, and I inhaled slowly, then exhaled slower still. His free hand slid down my right arm and I stiffened and would have pulled away if I weren’t afraid to move. But then his hand brushed my palm and his fingers twined around mine, and I clung to his hand, not out of fear, but out of relief. I wasn’t alone. I may have been feet from getting caught and minutes from facing Jake’s wrath, but for the first time in years, I wasn’t alone in either predicament.

Ian wouldn’t let me take all the blame or bear the brunt of the punishment, even if Jake and I both tried to give it to me. He wouldn’t desert me like Cam had. He’d said he’d sign—he’d promised to commit the next five years of his life to a monster—to keep Jake from killing me.

Ian wouldn’t leave me.

I let myself lean against his chest, my heart pounding in some intoxicating combination of fear and indefinable need, and his hand tightened around mine. And for a minute, I couldn’t breathe.

I’d never done this. I’d never felt anything as intimate as the feel of his hand in mine. His breath against my ear. His chest warm against my back.

I’d had sex. I’d even had sex multiple times with the same man, and until that moment, I would have considered that intimacy—the fact that I could tolerate one man enough to sleep with him more than once. But I was wrong. With Ian pressed against me, his heart beating in sync with my own, I understood that no connection I’d ever made had been more than physical gratification. Mutual back-scratching. I’d never lingered with anyone else. Never touched just to touch. Just to feel.

I’d never truly experienced or been experienced by anyone.

When Yard took his customer into another section of the cellar without noticing my cell phone, I breathed a little easier. They were still close enough that we could hear their voices, but far enough away that they wouldn’t notice our movement if we were quiet. So I turned and looked up at Ian in the shadows, and his dark-eyed gaze searched mine. Waiting. Silently asking a question words couldn’t have clarified.

I let go of his hand, and he looked disappointed—until I laid it on his chest. His breathing deepened, and his heart raced. I could feel it through his shirt. I slid my hand up slowly, over his sternum, then his collarbone. My fingers rounded the curve of his neck, scratchy with stubble, and I pulled his head down as I went up on my toes. Then I kissed him.

Twenty

Ian

Kori kissed me. I’d half expected her to rip my arm off for touching her hand, but instead she kissed me, and every bit of spark in her—every blaze of temper and passion she smothered just to survive in her world—it all burned bright in that kiss. She’d found an outlet for everything she felt but couldn’t show, and I took it all. I swallowed her pain and her anger. I devoured her isolation and frustration. And I reveled in the hunger she was showing me, and in my own need, awakened by hers.

When she finally dropped onto her heels again, her hand trailing down my neck and lingering on my chest, I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t see anything but Kori, and the confusion and desire warring in her eyes. Flickering across her expression, one side of her face shadowed, the other illuminated by light shining through the racks from the lit section of the cellar.