Chase took a step, then another, each one heavier than the last. The space between him and Savannah felt impossibly far, the air thick with something too charged to name. He swore he could hear the blood pounding in his ears, drowning out the music, the chatter, everything except the sound of his own name echoing in his head—her voice, saying it the way she used to, soft and hesitant, like she knew she was playing with fire.
The years between them vanished as he walked, memories slamming into him with every breath.
Savannah standing on the dock, her hair wild in the wind, smiling at him like he was the only person in the world.
The way her fingers used to curl around the hem of her dress when she was nervous, when she was about to say something she knew she shouldn’t.
The night he almost kissed her but didn’t. The regret that had burned in his gut for years afterward.
Now, here she was. Right in front of him. And this time, he wasn’t walking away without an answer.
As he neared, Savannah straightened in her chair, her lips parting slightly, her fingers tightening around her glass. He could see the way her chest rose and fell just a little too quickly, the way her gaze flickered with something unspoken, something just as dangerous as what was running through him.
Mallory, the ever-observant instigator, leaned back in her chair with a grin. "Oh, this is about to be good."
Chase barely registered her. He stopped just short of Savannah’s table, his hands flexing at his sides, trying to suppress the storm raging inside him.
"Savannah," he said, his voice rougher than he intended.
She blinked up at him, her expression unreadable, but he caught the way her throat bobbed, the way her grip on her drink tightened like she needed something to hold onto.
"Chase," she said softly, and damn if that didn’t knock the wind right out of him.
The air between them stretched tight, thick with everything unspoken. Years of silence, of missed chances, of paths that had almost crossed but never quite did.
Mallory, sensing the shift, lifted her drink to her lips. "Well, don’t just stand there looking pretty, cowboy. Say something."
Chase dragged in a breath, his jaw tightening. He had no idea what the hell to say, no script to follow, no plan. Just the weight of everything he’d never said before pressing against his ribs.
So, he did the only thing that felt right.
He pulled out the chair across from Savannah and sat the hell down.
11
Tempting Tension
SavannahbarelyheardwhatMallory was saying over the pounding in her ears. Every nerve in her body was on fire, and she wasn’t even sure she was breathing properly.
This was fucking ridiculous.
She was a grown woman—accomplished, confident, in control. But right now? Right now, she felt like a damn teenager with a stomach full of nerves and no idea what to do with her hands.
Because Chase Montgomery was here.
And worse? He had noticed her.
"Fuck me," Mallory muttered, eyes locked across the bar. "He’s getting up, Savannah. He’s coming over."
Savannah’s fingers tightened around her drink, nails pressing into the glass. "I can fucking see that, Mal," she hissed, heart slamming against her ribs.
"Jesus Christ." Mallory smirked. "I feel like I should be recording this. It’s giving second-chance porn-level tension."
"Shut the fuck up," Savannah snapped, but before she could say anything else—
Chase was there.
Standing at their table. Hands in his pockets. Looking every bit like the mistake she was dying to make.
