Chapter 347: Chapter 347: You better let go
Her eyes widened. The breath rushed out of her in a tiny, helpless gasp she couldn’t swallow back if she tried.
Kian didn’t flinch.
His hands stayed right where they were—broad and warm at her waist, thumbs resting in the soft dip of her sides. His face was maddeningly straight, that infamous stone mask back in place as if absolutely nothing unusual was happening between them. Which was a lie. A very big, very undeniable lie pressed firmly beneath her.
"Kian," she hissed under her breath, palms splaying over his chest to push, except she didn’t push—because it was Kian and his heartbeat was hammering under her fingers and her traitor body loved the feeling a little too much. "You better let go."
"Why?" The single word came out calm, low, a little rough at the edges, like he’d swallowed gravel and honey at once. His blue eyes didn’t move from her face. Not even a flicker.
"Because—" she struggled, cheeks scorching, brain blanking. "Because you will let me go."
A heartbeat stretched long enough to write a history book. His jaw flexed. Those blue eyes softened, the tiniest crack in the armor.
He sighed. Defeated. It slid out of him like surrender, warm against her mouth. Slowly, so slowly it felt personal, his fingers loosened from her waist.
She scrambled off his lap with all the elegance of a newborn deer. Both feet hit the stone, her knees wobbling, one hand catching the edge of the table, the other still pressed to his chest like some part of her refused to let him go entirely. Heat crashed through her from head to toe, embarrassment sparkling behind her eyes until she wanted to hide under the floor.
Kian’s hands fell empty.
The absence was a blow. He felt it like cold air rushing into a room after a fire’s gone out—sharp, mean, immediate. The warmth that had pressed into him a breath ago was gone, and every place she’d been—thighs bracketing his hips, soft weight settled over him, heartbeat stuttering against his—ached with the memory. His fingers curled once, as if they could still hold her shape. He swallowed hard, tasting the ghost of her laugh on his tongue, and the space between them rang like a struck bell.
He already missed her. Ridiculous. Instant. Unfixable.
Isabella dared a glance up.
Oh, that was a mistake.
Kian’s mouth had curved. Not into his rare soft smile, not the fond almost-smirk he let slip when she made him forget himself. No. This was different. The corners of his lips edged into something dark and delighted, like the exact brand of trouble your mother warned you about. His blue eyes lit with it. A sound rolled out of him—low, warm, wicked.
A chuckle. Dark as a shadow and twice as dangerous.
She gasped, clutching her own face like she could physically cool it down. "Kian, you menace." She pointed at him as if the accusation could stab him where he sat. "I can’t believe I thought so highly of you. You are so evil."
He tilted his head, pretended offense with zero conviction. "Am I evil?"
"Yes." Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat, trying for regal and landing on breathless. "Absolutely the worst."
"Hmm." He let the sound vibrate in his throat, then leaned back just enough to look infuriatingly composed. "And yet you’re the one who sat so long on me." His gaze didn’t drop; it stayed on her eyes, steady, hot, unblinking. That made it worse. "You expected nothing to happen?"
Isabella’s soul left her body, waved a little white flag, and then came sprinting back to keep up with the humiliation.
"I—That—Shut up," she sputtered, hands flying everywhere—combing through her hair, flattening her dress, fanning at a face that was, at this point, redder than the reddest tomato on earth. "I was having a moment."
His brows lifted a fraction. "So was I."
"You—" She stomped once, a tiny, furious punctuation mark on the stone. "You are lucky I still have self-control."
He gave her a look that was pure sin and patience. "And you too are lucky I still have some."
Her brain short-circuited. She made a noise that did not exist in any language, then clapped a hand over her mouth in horror. When she spoke again, the words tumbled out in a rush. "How can I even forget that I am mad at you? Huh? You used your stupid kisses and your stupid touches to make me forget. You—" She flailed at him like she could wave the memory out of the air. "You weaponized tenderness, that’s illegal."
A corner of his mouth twitched. "Illegal."
"In every civilized society," she insisted, chin up, dignity bleeding out of her by the second. "I hope you get fined."
"For kissing you?" His voice dropped. "Bella."
Her pulse tripped. She hated when he said it like that, soft and devastating, because it turned her bones into warm sugar. "Don’t—"
He didn’t move. He didn’t have to. His presence folded around her like heat, like morning sunlight catching dust motes in the air. She could feel him without looking at him—which was convenient, because looking at him was suddenly hazardous.
Do not look down, she told herself. Do not look down. You are strong. You are a mountain. Mountains do not look down.
Her eyes, traitors with tiny legs, glanced down.
Just a flick. Just enough to ruin her.
She snapped her gaze back to his face, swallowing so hard it echoed in her skull. Nope. She hadn’t seen anything. Nothing at all. The world was empty. Clean. Monastery rules. She would become a monk immediately.
Another swallow. Another. She willed her throat to behave. It didn’t.
Kian watched her, amusement sliding warm across his features like the sunrise. Understanding clicked behind his eyes. He didn’t smirk. He didn’t leer. He just softened at the edges in that devastating way that made her want to scream into a cushion.