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They hold each other. Hearts, breaths, sighs in sync.
“Ashabelle.” He strokes her hair, calling her back to him.
“Tell me the escape plan now.” He sweeps a kiss over her lips. “We bail mid-dinner. Shimmy out the bathroom window with a very big bottle of wine.”
Ash inhales him. Like there’s never been any kiss, any man, any love to exist except Nathaniel.
Nathaniel Whitford’s the absolute worst. In the best possible way.
“Tell me a truth,” she says. His eyes flare as they meet hers. “I love you. Absolutely. Desperately.”
“And I love you too. With every beat of my pulpy heart.”
His voice is low and rough. “Tell me a truth, my morbid little beauty.”
