I’d kissed Mason Beaufort with a gun in my hand and a target on my back, knowing exactly what it would cost me, and I’d still taken the risk. Because he needed me, and goddammit, I needed him just as much. Before I could talk myself out of it, my fingers brushed lightly against the sharp line of his cheekbone. Rough. Warm. Alive. Thank God. “You okay?” I whispered. His breath stuttered, soft enough to miss if I weren’t already hanging on to every move he made.
