Honest question.
“I think if they were going to, they would’ve already. But I also think they’re watching.”
Her gaze lifted. “Us?”
“You,” I said. “And anyone you talk to. Anyone who asks the wrong questions.”
Her throat worked. “Including you?”
“Especially me.”
She exhaled, shoulders loosening only to tense again. “Then maybe you should stop.”
I shook my head, eyes steady on hers. “You know I won’t.”
Her fingers brushed mine where they hung between us, light as a breath.
I didn’t pull back. Neither did she. The silence stretched, heavy with everything we weren’t saying. I shifted, closing the gap, my hand covering hers. She let me. No flinch. No retreat. Just the faint tremor of her pulse beneath my palm.
“You’re not alone in this,” I said, voice low.
Tension eased from her frame, the faintest shift, and then she leaned into me. Instinct took the rest. My arm slid around her, pulling her closer. Her hair brushed my jaw, carrying that faint salt-sweet scent of the coast.
She tipped her face up. I leaned down, close enough to feel the hitch of her breath, and brushed my lips over hers. Barely there. A spark instead of a flame. It should’ve been enough—just the ghost of contact—but the second I felt her soften into it, I was gone.
She kissed me back, hesitant for half a beat, then certain, her mouth parting against mine. Slow, searching, like we were relearning each other after too much silence and damage. The taste of her—sweet and intoxicating, familiar and new—slid straight through me, and suddenly, I couldn’t get close enough.
Slow didn’t last. It never did with us.
Her hand slid up my chest, heat surging in its wake as her fingers pressed into my jaw, dragging me down harder as if she couldn’t stand the space left between us. The pressure of it set me on fire. I caught her against me, hand under the edge of her hoodie, thumb grazing skin—warm, soft, alive. She gasped into my mouth, and the sound broke me open, stripped me raw.
The kiss turned frenzied—teeth, breath, the desperate clash of want and memory colliding. Her nails scraped the back of my neck. My pulse hammered in my throat. Every brush of her lips, every tug closer, every frantic gasp fueled the part of me that had missed her so fiercely it bordered on pain.
My hand slipped higher, beneath fabric, fingers splaying against bare skin.
She tore herself away. Our breaths collided in the space between us, ragged, uneven. Her pupils blown wide, a flush racing up her throat, lips swollen from mine. Gorgeous. Shaken.
“Luke—” Her voice fractured. “I’m not ready for more.”
I froze, the ache still clawing at me, but I didn’t push. Couldn’t.
She steadied herself with a breath, words spilling fast, as though she had to get them out before she lost the nerve. “We had everything before, and it still broke. Trust between us is fragile. And we can’t even be seen as anything outside rooftops or behind closed doors. I don’t want to rush this. Not yet.”
Her eyes searched mine, fierce and pleading all at once.
I forced air back into my lungs. Nodded once. “Then we go slow.”
Her shoulders softened—barely. But enough.
I lifted a hand, brushing my thumb gently across her bottom lip, still swollen from my kiss. She stilled, breath catching again, but didn’t pull away. For a moment, I let my forehead rest against hers, the heat of her skin grounding me, keeping me from pushing for more.
The ache didn’t fade. But it steadied.
When I finally stood, she walked me to the door, hoodie wrapped tight as armor. Neither of us spoke—too much still burning in the air. On the porch, she lingered a second, then slipped back inside, the door clicking shut between us.
I crossed the gravel drive, every nerve still wired, jaw tight. By the time I slid behind the wheel, my hands shook faintly on the steering column. Her taste lingered on my lips, the ghost of her body still pressed against mine. Want twisted sharp under my ribs, threaded with frustration I couldn’t shake.
I started the engine, headlights flaring across the quiet street. The night pressed in heavy as I pulled away, carrying the heat of her with me and the ache of everything we weren’t—yet. And all I could think was how wanting her this much was its own kind of risk—because Dunn, Langley, even my father’s empire couldn’t cut me down the way losing her would.
