Chapter 6: The Point of No Return

Mary Rose POV

I should walk away. Every rational cell in my brain is screaming at me to thank Thomas for his honesty, get in my car, and never look back. But rationality apparently has no power when Thomas Gray is looking at me like I'm the answer to every question he's been too afraid to ask.

He doesn't wait for me to decide. Just takes my hand his palm warm and calloused and completely overwhelming and starts leading me through the gates like this is already decided. Like we're both already damned and might as well make it count.

"Thomas"

"Don't." His grip tightens, not painfully, but possessively. "Don't think. Don't rationalize. Just come with me."

So I do. Because apparently I'm incapable of self-preservation when he touches me, my hand burning where his engulfs it, every step toward the manor feeling like another step away from safety and toward something that will either save or destroy me.

The manor is empty when we enter no staff bustling through halls, no wedding planners with clipboards and schedules. Just us and the echoing silence of a space too large for the intimacy crackling between us like a live wire.

Thomas doesn't take me to the public spaces we toured yesterday. Instead, he leads me down a corridor I didn't see before, through a door that requires a code, and into what I realize is his private wing. His sanctuary within the larger estate.

"This is where you live," I say stupidly, because my brain has apparently stopped functioning properly.

"Yes." Thomas closes the door behind us, and the soft click sounds like a line being crossed. "And I'm bringing you here because I need you to understand something, Mary Rose. This isn't casual for me. This isn't some billionaire's whim or momentary curiosity. When I bring someone into my private space, it means something."

My heart hammers against my ribs. "What does it mean?"

"It means I'm done pretending." He crosses to me in two strides, and suddenly his hands are framing my face, his eyes burning into mine with intensity that steals my breath. "It means I'm going to kiss you. And if that's not what you want, tell me now, because once I start, I won't be able to stop."

I should refuse. Should maintain the professional boundaries that are already in tatters around our feet. But instead, I hear myself say something I've never admitted to anyone.

"I broke off my engagement to Henry." The lie falls easily, transforming our story into something more palatable. "Three years ago. He didn't leave me. I left him."

Thomas goes very still. "You told me he abandoned you."

"Because broken is easier than abandoned," I whisper, and that at least is partial truth. "Because I'd rather people think I was strong enough to walk away than know I was weak enough to be left standing at the altar in a dress I couldn't afford."

It's not the whole truth Henry absolutely left me but it's close enough. And the way Thomas's expression softens, the guilt in his eyes easing slightly, tells me he needs to believe I had some agency in my own destruction.

"Why lie about it?" he asks, even as his thumbs brush across my cheekbones in a touch so gentle it makes my eyes sting.

"Because no one wants to hear that you were disposable to someone you thought loved you." My voice cracks. "Because admitting Henry left makes me pathetic. But saying I left makes me brave."

"You are brave." Thomas's voice is fierce. "You survived something that would have destroyed most people, and you built a life from the ashes. That's not weakness, Mary Rose. That's strength I don't know if I could have managed."

Then he kisses me, and I understand why I've been terrified of this moment.

Because this isn't just a kiss it's annihilation and resurrection wrapped together. Thomas's mouth claims mine with possessive hunger that makes every other kiss I've ever experienced feel like practice for this moment. His kiss isn't gentle or tentative. It's consuming, demanding response I give without hesitation, my hands fisting in his shirt to pull him closer while his arms band around my waist like he's afraid I'll disappear if he loosens his grip.

I open for him immediately, and his groan of satisfaction vibrates through my entire body. His tongue slides against mine, exploring, claiming, making me forget my own name. One of his hands slides into my hair, tilting my head back to deepen the kiss while the other splays across my lower back, pulling me flush against him.

I can feel every hard plane of his body, the evidence of his arousal pressing against my stomach in a way that should embarrass me but instead sends liquid heat pooling between my thighs.

"God, Mary Rose." Thomas's voice is wrecked when he finally breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against mine while we both struggle to breathe. "You taste like salvation and damnation. I can't ''I need"

His mouth is on mine again before he finishes the sentence, and this time there's nothing gentle about it. He walks me backward until my spine hits something solid his desk and his body pins me in place while his hands roam possessively over my curves, learning my shape through clothes that suddenly feel like prison.

"Thomas," I gasp against his mouth. "We shouldn't"

"Tell me to stop." His hands slide under my sweater, finding heated skin and the edge of my lace bra. "Tell me you don't want this, and I'll step back. I'll be professional and appropriate, and we'll pretend this never happened."

But we both know that's impossible. We've crossed too many lines to retreat now.

Instead of answering with words, I pull his mouth back to mine, kissing him with all the desperate hunger I've been suppressing for three years. Every lonely night. Every moment I convinced myself I'd never want anyone again. Every piece of myself I thought Henry had destroyed I pour it all into this kiss, into Thomas's waiting mouth, into the connection building between us like something alive and dangerous.

Thomas responds with matching intensity, his control shattering completely. His hands slide from my waist to my hips, and then he's lifting me, settling me on the desk with my legs automatically wrapping around his waist to pull him closer.

The new position makes me whimper. He's pressed exactly where I need him, the friction of our bodies separated by too many layers of clothing but still enough to make stars explode behind my eyelids.

"This is insane," I manage when his mouth leaves mine to trail down my throat. "We barely know each other. This is too fast. Too"

My words dissolve into a moan when his teeth graze my pulse point with exactly the right amount of pressure. His hands are everywhere sliding up my sides, tracing the curve of my breasts through my bra, thumbs brushing across sensitive peaks that make me arch into his touch like I'm starving for it.

"Then tell me to stop," Thomas challenges against my collarbone, his voice rough with desire. "Tell me you don't want my hands on you. Tell me you're not as desperate for this as I am."

But I can't. Because I am desperate. Desperate for his touch, his attention, the way he makes me feel desired in ways Henry never did.

Thomas lifts me from the desk without warning, carrying me to the leather couch by the windows like I weigh nothing. He follows me down, covering my body with his, and the solid weight of him makes me feel safe and overwhelmed simultaneously.

We don't have sex not yet. But what we do feels almost more intimate. His hands map my body through clothing while mine explore the muscled planes of his back. We kiss until my lips feel swollen and my jaw aches. We grind together like teenagers, desperate and frantic and completely lost in sensation.

When Thomas's hand slides up my thigh, bunching my skirt around my hips, I nearly come apart from anticipation alone. But he doesn't push for more. Just touches me through the thin silk of my underwear, his groan of approval when he feels how wet I am making me flush with embarrassment and want.

"You're soaking for me," he murmurs against my ear. "Do you have any idea what that does to me? Knowing you want this as much as I do?"

"Thomas, please"

"Please what?" His fingers trace patterns that make me whimper and writhe beneath him. "Tell me what you need, Mary Rose."

But I can't form words. Can't do anything but clutch at his shoulders and move against his hand, chasing pleasure that feels just out of reach.

Thomas watches me with dark eyes, his expression possessive and tender simultaneously. "You're so beautiful like this," he says, and then his fingers slide beneath silk and I'm lost.

We stay like that for what feels like hours kissing and touching and learning each other's bodies with hands that can't seem to stop exploring. When we finally break apart, both disheveled and breathing hard, reality settles between us like a third presence.

"I can't be with you publicly," Thomas says, his voice hoarse. "Not yet. Henry's coming back from London soon, and if he found out about us..." He trails off, but I understand the implication.

"So what are you proposing?" I ask, even though I already know. "An affair? Secret meetings while I photograph weddings at your venue and pretend you're just my professional client?"

Thomas's jaw tightens. "Six weeks until the Wellington-Morrison wedding. Six weeks to figure out if this is real or just madness. Six weeks before we have to decide what happens next." His hand cradles my face with devastating tenderness. "I know it's not fair to ask you for secrets and stolen moments. But I'm not ready to let you go, Mary Rose. Not when I just found you."

I should refuse. Six weeks of secret meetings and hidden desire can only end in disaster. But as Thomas kisses me again slower this time, savoring rather than consuming I realize I stopped being rational the moment I met him.

"Six weeks," I agree against his lips, sealing my fate. "But Thomas? When this ends and we both get hurt because we will get hurt promise me you won't let it become ugly. Promise me we'll walk away with dignity intact."

Thomas's expression suggests he doesn't believe we'll end at all. "Six weeks," he confirms. "But Mary Rose? I don't plan on letting you go when they're over. I plan on making you mine in every way that matters."

It should sound like a threat. Instead, it sounds like the most dangerous promise anyone's ever made me.

And I want it more than my next breath.