Chapter 859

Lucian Graves slid into the backseat of the car. Rosalind Fairchild parted her lips to speak, but words never came. His hands cradled her face as he captured her mouth in a searing kiss.

A breathy sigh escaped her as she melted into his embrace. Lucian's arms encircled her waist, lifting her effortlessly onto his lap as the kiss deepened with desperate intensity.

"Where...are we?" Rosalind gasped when they finally broke apart.

Noticing her tension, Lucian murmured against her lips, "The private garage beneath Quantum Innovations. Relax, darling. No one ever comes down here."

The tension left Rosalind's shoulders. She wound her arms around his neck, fingers brushing against the edge of his mask.

Lucian jerked his head back. "What are you—"

"I want to see you," she whispered. "Doesn't this get uncomfortable after wearing it for so long?"

His voice turned gravelly. "What if you don't like what you see?"

Rosalind arched an eyebrow. "Only one way to find out, isn't there?"

With deliberate slowness, she peeled the mask away, revealing the scars beneath. Lucian immediately averted his face.

"Maybe I should put it back on."

"Don't you dare." Rosalind cupped his jaw, forcing him to meet her gaze. "After everything between us, you'd still hide from me?"

Her lips found his again, soft and insistent. When she trailed kisses along his scarred cheek, Lucian tensed violently.

"Don't," he rasped. "Not there."

But Rosalind only tightened her grip. "I'll kiss every inch of you, Lucian Graves."

Again and again, her lips brushed over his scars with unbearable tenderness. Lucian's breathing turned ragged, his fingers digging into her hips.

"I need you. Now."

Time lost meaning. When Rosalind finally surfaced, her body felt deliciously wrecked—damp with sweat, hair clinging to her flushed skin, every muscle trembling.

Lucian gathered her close. "Exhausted?"

She nodded weakly. "Completely spent...can't move."

He pressed an affectionate kiss to the tip of her nose. "Darling, I did all the work."

Though utterly drained, Rosalind noted how Lucian looked frustratingly energized—his shirt hanging open, revealing tantalizing glimpses of toned muscle beneath.

She swatted weakly at his chest. "You're impossible..."

Lucian claimed her lips again, his arousal evident. Rosalind groaned. "Again? Where do you get this stamina?"

"Three years of celibacy," he growled. "I'm making up for lost time."

That gave her pause. "What about your...wife?"

Lucian's expression turned serious. "There was never a marriage."

"What?" Rosalind's eyes widened. "But I saw the wedding!"

He began explaining in measured tones. "My father was an undercover agent murdered by a drug lord. Getting close to that woman was the only way to reach him. To get justice."

His thumb brushed her cheek. "I couldn't tell you, Rosalind. I needed to keep you safe. That day at the chapel...when I saw you outside, the target was already watching. I had no choice but to go through with the charade."

"The moment you left, we moved in. The operation succeeded. My father finally got justice."

The truth crashed over Rosalind. Their painful separation. The apparent betrayal. All of it—a carefully constructed lie to protect her.

He'd broken her heart to save her life.