WI

“We have an agreement,” you whispered into the dark of the conservatory, the lace of your nightgown brushing against the coarse wool of his riding coat. “We are a transaction, Lord Ackerman. Nothing more.” Levi’s hand found your waist in the shadows, his calloused thumb anchoring over your hip with a bruising, terrifying possessiveness. “Then stop looking at me like I’m the only man who can keep you alive,” he rasped against your ear. “Because I am entirely too tired of pretending I don't want to prove you right.”