11
Luke frowned and kept his feet rooted to the ground, even as Agathe turned away, her hurried footsteps taking her to the door. He wanted to be strong, to let her go. But dammit. He couldn’t.
Adrenaline rushed through his veins. He lunged forward. His hand slammed onto the giant glass door a second before she could open it and leave.
“Stop.”
She startled, but he held the door in place.
She stood sandwiched between him and the glass, her pupils wide, black pools and her mouth agape, while he couldn’t recall the last time he’d been so unshakably serious.
Her body sagged, and she surrendered her weight to the glass wall behind her, attention cast downward to his belly, the unfocused sheen in her eyes hinting that she probably didn’t see much of anything.
“I don’t understand.” He let
