“Sloane,” he says, his eyes soldered to my lips. My name is a whisper of salvation and suffering as he says it again. A thick swallow catches in Rowan’s throat. “I can’t lose you.” “Then you’d better kiss me,” I whisper back. Rowan meets my eyes. His hands warm my cheeks. We’re just a breath of space away from one another, and I know everything will change once his lips touch mine. And it’s true. Everything transforms with a kiss. Rowan’s lips are soft but the kiss is firm, as though there’s no room in his mind for doubt or uncertainty. He knows what he wants. Maybe he’s wanted it all along.
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