Chapter 823

Rosalind pressed her back against the cool tiles, her fingers digging into the grout lines. "Who are you really asking about?"

Lucian's lips brushed the delicate shell of her ear. "What do you mean?"

"Are you asking if I want Everett...or Lucian?"

Instead of answering, Lucian countered, "Who do you want it to be?"

A mischievous smile curved Rosalind's lips. In one swift motion, she turned her head and captured his mouth with hers.

Lucian froze momentarily, startled by her unexpected boldness. Then his hands cradled her face as he deepened the kiss with desperate intensity.

They poured three years of longing into that kiss—Rosalind's fingers clutching his shoulders, Lucian drinking her in like a man starved.

She twisted back around, her fingertips tracing the ridges of his toned abdomen. Lucian buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her familiar scent.

"It's you," Rosalind whispered against his skin.

Lucian pressed his lips to her cascading hair.

Tears glistened in Rosalind's eyes. "Truthfully, I didn't need to see that birthmark. I always knew."

From their very first encounter at Westfield University, some part of her had recognized him. She'd simply been too afraid to trust her instincts.

Now, all doubt had vanished. This was undeniably him.

The only remaining question—should she call him Everett, or Lucian?

Strong arms encircled Rosalind's waist as Lucian lifted her onto the marble countertop. His darkened gaze held hers before claiming her lips again with bruising intensity.

Rosalind reached up and tore away his mask.

The scarred visage that greeted her made Lucian stiffen. He started to pull away, but Rosalind seized his wrist. "What happened to you?"

The handsome face she remembered was now a landscape of healed wounds and twisted tissue.

Lucian studied her reaction, his mouth quirking bitterly. "I know I'm hideous now. Does it frighten you?"

Tears spilled down Rosalind's cheeks as she answered by pulling him into another searing kiss. Her lips conveyed everything words couldn't—her grief, her longing, her unwavering devotion.

Lucian's breathing grew ragged. His fingers worked at her buttons as he rasped, "Tell me you want this. I need you." Rosalind responded by tugging at his belt buckle with renewed urgency.

Lucian stilled her hands. "Like this." He guided her fingers to the release mechanism.

The metallic click of his belt unfastening seemed deafening in the charged silence.

Garments fell away as years of pent-up desire threatened to consume them. After three agonizing years apart, they ached to become one again.

Then—the shrill ringtone sliced through the moment. Lucian's phone lit up with Reginald Blackwood's name.

Reality came crashing back. Rosalind hadn't forgotten why she'd come tonight—Whitmore Holdings still needed saving.

She nudged him gently. "It's Mr. Blackwood."

Lucian's voice was rough with desire. "Later."

"You should answer."

"I said later."

"Please...just take it now."

That single whispered "please" unraveled Lucian completely. She sounded exactly like the Rosalind he'd fallen for—the vibrant heiress who'd clung to him with such fierce love.

With a frustrated groan, Lucian broke away to answer. "Yes?"

Even as he spoke, his burning gaze never left hers. Rosalind worried her lower lip between her teeth, her hands restless against his chest.

Lucian struggled to steady his breathing as Reginald's voice came through: "Are you and Ms. Fairchild ready? I've secured the private dining room at The Grand View. When shall we depart?"