The thought of not you
"Until last week on that sidewalk. Until last night on that bench."
Before she could process the intense weight of his statement, Lucian reached across the table, his large, pale hand sliding over hers. The moment his cold skin made contact with her warm fingers, a violent shockwave of heat rumbled through her veins, a raw, primal connection that made her breath completely hitch in her throat. His grip was firm, possessive, yet incredibly gentle, his thumb slowly tracing the back of her hand, anchoring her to him in a way she couldn't explain. He looked at her as if she were a long-lost treasure, a sacred anchor to a soul that had been drowning in chaos for centuries.
Bab Populer