The kiss changed. It shifted from a soft seal of gratitude into something darker, deeper, and infinitely more desperate. Derek's lips moved against hers with a raw hunger that he had been suppressing for months. He pressed forward, his large body crowding hers, forcing her backward until her hips bumped against the edge of his massive desk.
He didn't stop. He didn't care about the order of his study. He didn't care about the maps or the inkwells.
With a sudden, violent sweep of his left arm, Derek cleared the surface.
CRASH.
The sound was loud and chaotic in the quiet room. The small, carefully wrapped boxes—the beads, the wooden horse, the silk scarf—tumbled off the edge. They hit the floor with a clatter, scattering across the rug like discarded toys. The silver locket, safe in its velvet box, slid to the far corner, forgotten for the moment.
Marissa gasped, breaking the kiss. She looked down at the mess, her eyes wide. Her frugal, practical mind kicked in for a split second.
