Lorraine woke the next morning with Madame Despoina’s words coiled tight around her heart like a serpent.
Roman is more than he tells you.
It haunted her with every breath, louder than the echo of her dreams, louder than her racing pulse when she thought of his mouth against hers, his hands gripping her so fiercely she still swore she could feel them. She wanted him—there was no denying that. Their night together had been like nothing else, a storm that left her aching, trembling, but alive in a way she’d never been before.
But desire was easy. It was the trust that seemed impossible.
The longer she sat with it, the more her thoughts tangled into knots she couldn’t undo. How much of what she felt for him was her own? How much was… magic? He was powerful, she knew that now. What if ever
