“Don’t feel that way,” I say, even though part of me wonders the same thing. “We can connect later. It’s not the end of the world.”
And I mean it. I do. But as I say the words, I spot movement out of the corner of my eye. Will. Striding into the arena with that quiet, steady determination that always made people believe he knew exactly where he was going even when he didn’t.
He’s looking right at me. Eyes locked. Jaw set. And every cell in my body goes still.
“Hey,” I murmur into the phone, voice tight. “I’ve got to run. I’ll call you later, okay?”
“Yeah,” Nash says, slower this time. “Take care.”
I end the call just as Will reaches the gate, dust swirling around his boots like even the wind knows something’s about to happen.
“Sam thought you might be out here,” he says, voice low.
I cross my arms. “You checking in on his orders again?”
He shakes his head once. “No. This time, I came for me.”
He takes another step closer, and I stay rooted to the spot, heart hammering. Because I know whatever he says next… it’s not going to be casual.
“You avoiding me, Phern Stone?”
Out of everything he could have said, this makes me laugh.
“Something funny?”
“No. Not really.”
His arms cross. “Well?”
“Yes, I’m avoiding you.”
He blinks like he didn’t expect me to admit it.
Will takes a slow step forward, the gravel crunching beneath his boots. “Any particular reason, or do you just get off on driving me crazy?”
I swallow, hard. “Both.”
His jaw flexes, and for a second, I think he might turn and walk away. Instead, he closes the gap between us in two long strides. Now we’re chest to chest, and my breath catches.
“You think this is a game?” His voice is low. “’Cause I’m not playing anymore.”
“I never said it was a game.”
“You didn’t have to.”
His hand comes up, fingers brushing my jaw, tilting my face toward his. I should pull back. I should say something smart and safe and distant. But I don’t.
Because the look in his eyes? It burns.
And when his mouth crashes into mine, I forget every damn reason I had for staying away.
It’s not a kiss. It’s a claim. All tension and frustration, teeth and tongue, years of want unleashed in one devastating sweep. My hands fist in his shirt, dragging him closer like I need him to breathe.
He groans into my mouth, breaking the kiss only long enough to murmur, “Tell me to stop.”
But I don’t.
Instead, I whisper back, “Look at you. Lusting after your best friend’s sister.”
