Emma’s hands settled on my chest. I felt that touch in the center of me.

“Hey,” I whispered, smiling as I kissed her softly, lightly. A little hello. A small taste.

I felt her smile against mine. “Hey.”

I kissed her again. An acknowledgement. “Thank you for taking care of me, Emma.”

The concession was worth it, just to see the way her eyes lit with happiness.

Her hands tunneled into my hair. “You’re welcome, Lucian.”

I wanted to make love to this woman. Take my time, learn her secrets, what made her sigh, what made her cry out for mercy.

My mouth moved over the satin skin of her cheek to the curve of her neck. She shivered, tilting her head to give me access, her fingertips pushing deeper into my chest. She smelled good, sweet. The swells of her breasts brushed my chest, and my breath hitched, my hands gripping her ass harder.

Needy. She made me needy. Took me apart in ways I couldn’t predict.

I loved it. Hated it. But I didn’t stop kissing her, my tongue slipping out to taste her skin.

Emma shivered again, rocked into me, her fingers threading through my hair. “Lucian?”

“Hmm . . .” My lids lowered as I nuzzled the hollow of her throat.

“I want to ask you something, but I’m afraid you’ll get upset.”

Her words crusted over my skin, rendering me still. Then I breathed, pretended my pulse hadn’t spiked. But she probably felt it, as close as she was.

More interested in kissing than talking, I trailed my lips back up to her jawline. “That sounds a lot like bait, honey.”

“It is.” She kissed my temple. The crest of my cheek. “But I’m also serious.”

I had two options. Retreat or relent. Given that the latter would allow me to continue touching her, I relented.

“Ask, then.” I nipped along the graceful line of her throat. “I’ll take it out on your neck.”

A sound of amusement hummed under her skin. “Fair enough. Your headaches. Are you seeing a doctor?”

I wasn’t surprised. Not even disappointed—she cared enough to ask. I still felt exposed. Weak. I kept my tone neutral, my hands busy feeling her ripe curves.

“Yes, Em. I’m being monitored. I went for a checkup last week. My brain is healing. Actually, it’s looking really good.” My doctor had been both impressed and pleased with how well I’d healed. “The headaches are actually reducing in frequency. Migraines tend to come in times of stress; that’s all.”

Emma’s swift expression of horror made me grimace.

“God, Luc—”

“I didn’t mean you—”

“You got one when you met me. And again when we . . .” She flushed, pained, her gaze darting over my face. “Do I stress you?”

I held her firmly, my eyes never leaving hers. “Em, no. Okay? The word stress is misleading. Last night was something I’ve been wanting since I met you.”

She softened a bit, but the worry remained, and I gave her a light squeeze.

“It was . . . I don’t know how to explain.” I blew out a breath. “It was emotional. Swift emotional highs and lows can throw me; that’s all.”

Emma looked as though she might argue, and I stopped her with a light kiss.

“I’m okay, Snoopy. I promise.” I wanted to concentrate on other things now, like getting her into bed. But she held on to my head and met my gaze.

“I swear, Em. I’m not going to break if we—”

“I know. I’m just glad. Okay? I’m . . . very glad you’re safe and well.” The tender look in her eyes and the way her voice hitched wrapped itself around me, filled my head, and made it dizzy. If I hadn’t been sitting down, I might have staggered. We’d known each other only for a short while. I wasn’t supposed to feel this much this fast. Neither was she. Did she? I wasn’t sure.

Uncertainty and vulnerability made me speak without thinking. “Eventually I will heal all the way. And then . . .” Shit. I hadn’t meant to go there. It was too much information. Too much exposure.

Emma frowned. “And then?”

It was on the tip of my tongue to evade with a joke. But I wanted to tell her, test the waters maybe. Or maybe just have the words out in the open. Holding her gaze, I sat back in the chair, keeping my hands lightly on her hips. I told Emma something I hadn’t uttered to anyone outside of conversations with my doctor, trainers, and former head coach. “I could wait it out, let myself heal, and go back.”

“What? You . . . you’d do that?” She appeared horrified.

“Sometimes, I think about it. Hell, I dream about it. But I think about Jean Philipe, what my family went through, the shell of a man he’d become. I wouldn’t do that to my family again.”

I told myself this every day. But in the darkest corners of my soul, I was tempted. So fucking tempted.

The touch of Emma’s hand upon my cheek pulled me back to the present. “Thank you,” she whispered, her fingers brushing along my temple, as though she could somehow soothe my battered brain. “For taking care of this brain. I find I very much like it.”

Right there, I was lost. I wasn’t prepared. My life was a wreck, uncertain and unsteady. And she’d strolled in with her starlight smile, unrepentant, challenging me at every turn. Telling me I was still worth something. That I meant something. To her.

It scared the shit out of me. Because eventually she’d see that I was a man living a half life.

I gripped the tops of her smooth thighs, as if they could ground me, but I still felt as though the bottom was dropping out of my world. “Em—”

“Titou?” The sound of my grandmother’s voice at the door, closely followed by a knock, had us both freezing in something close to horror. “Are you there?”

“Holy shit, it’s Amalie.” Emma’s high-pitched whisper cut through the fraught silence, and she scrambled off my lap, practically dancing around in a panic. “What do we do?”

I gurgled down a laugh. “Hide?”

“Lucian! This is serious. I’m in your shirt.” She gestured down her length, drawing my eyes to her bare legs. I’d had my hand on them for far too brief a time. “Shit. Where is my dress?”

She started for the bedroom, then glared at me over her shoulder as I laughed—I couldn’t help it; she was adorable in her frazzled state. “And put a shirt on.”