Then I whisper, “Where’s the mask?”
He goes still. His throat works, eyes searching mine for anger—or worse.
“I shouldn’t have...” he says hoarsely. “It was a mistake.”
My fingers trace the line of his jaw, slow and deliberate. “Get it.”
Confusion flickers. Then realization shines in his eyes. His pulse kicks beneath my fingertips. “Raine?—”
“Get it,” I repeat, my voice low, teasing.
He hesitates for only a heartbeat before striding to the truck. When he returns, the white mask gleams in his hand.
I meet his gaze, mischief curling at the edges of my mouth. “Put it on.”
He does.
The sight steals my breath all over again—familiar and new, danger remade into something thrilling. It takes me back to the night in my bedroom when I opened my eyes, and he was looming over me, wearing the mask.
I take a step back, my boots sinking into the wet grass, my heart pounding.
“If you catch me,” I murmur, my voice low and seductive. “You can do whatever you want to me.”
Then I turn and run—wild, breathless, free—through the vineyard that once held my nightmares. The vines part around me, their leaves whispering in approval as thunder rolls across the valley.
Behind me, I hear his low curse, the crunch of boots, the rhythm of pursuit.
I look over my shoulder to see how close he is. Lightning flashes, revealing the white hockey mask, gray eyes burning with unstoppable desire.
And for the first time, the chase isn’t about fear at all.
It’s aboutus.
CHAPTER 25
Tristan
My boots biteinto the soil as I chase Raine through the vineyard, the night tasting like rain and adrenaline. She looks back once—gold hair a live flame in the lightning—laughing as if the whole valley is ours to set on fire.
I hold back, just enough to let her think she can outrun me. Let her laughter circle between the rows. Let the need sharpen.
“Come on, wild honey,” I call, my breath low behind the mask. “You’ll have to do better than that.”
She veers right, exactly where I want her—toward the narrow cut that leads to the lower terrace and the old press. I catch the glint of her smile in the dark, and it punches straight through me.
There’s no escaping me.
And judging by the way she runs, she knows it.
I pump my arms and legs, increasing my speed. The vines thrum at my shoulders. She darts between posts, slipping just out of reach, a flash of bare face and wicked laughter. The mask turns my breath into a steady drum in my ears, every exhale a countdown.
Five more strides, and I hook an arm around her waist, lifting her off her feet. She gasps—half squeal, half shock—as I spinher into the wooden post. The night snaps into focus: her pulse against my palm, her chest heaving under my hand, the rain pearling across her lips.
“Caught you,” I murmur through the mask.
She stares up at me, honey eyes blazing. “Took you long enough.”
Her hands slide to my shoulders, fingers curling in my shirt. The world shrinks to inches between us, the heat rolling off her in waves. I brace a forearm beside her head, caging her there, not touching where we both want.
