Beautiful Things: Second Sons Book One

Rosalie’s words hit Burke like a shot. What he’d meant to imply was that they couldn’t keep kissing here, exposed as they were in the middle of the field. He’d be damned if that was the first and last time he kissed Rosalie Harrow. She was sweet as honey and so responsive to his touch. Her every whimper and sigh was an aria sung just for him.

He raised a hand to his mouth. She kissed like a goddess too. Damn, he already wanted more. He had to step back or be consumed. He felt himself the luckiest of men that she would trust him with that first kiss. She’d trembled in his arms. He was a man bewitched when she dared to claim the second.

But now she was looking at him with regret in her eyes and he wanted to die.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said gruffly, pulling her closer.

“But it’s what we both know to be true,” she replied, eyes downcast. She was sealing herself away.

“Don’t,” he said, jaw clenched tight, desperate to stop her emotional retreat. How could she be in his arms, yet so far away? “Rosalie—”

“You don’t.” Her cheeks bloomed pink, even while her eyes were still glassy with desire. “Don’t call me that, and don’t push me on this. We both know our respective situations. This can go no further. It was a beautiful moment, and I thank you for it—”

“You thank me,” he scoffed, bitterness lacing his words as he dropped his hands away. He didn’t care if he was being selfish. In the span of one achingly perfect moment, he tasted ambrosia on her lips. Now this goddess was sentencing him to Tartarus, where he’d live trapped in this memory forever, knowing it would never be repeated.

“I do thank you, Burke. But we can’t—”

He heard the quiet sob in her voice. His every instinct begged him to touch her, comfort her, kiss away her tears. But he knew if he touched her now, he risked breaking the trust he still had. If he wanted any hope of a repeat of those kisses, if he wanted to remain in her confidence, he’d have to play this game by her rules.

Good thing he liked games…and he was playing this one to win.

He raised a hand in mock surrender. She loved the devil in him, and he was determined to see her duel with it before he tasted her again. He narrowed his eyes in challenge. “Your wish is my command, Miss Harrow. I won’t kiss you again…until you ask me nicely.”