Jude is half-laughing, half-wheezing as he approaches us. “Yo, Z, package arrived for you. It’s with Carl.”
Zane barely nods, casual on the surface, but I see it. The twitch of caginess that flickers across his eyes. Quick and subtle.
The kind of thing you’d miss if you hadn’t spent the last three weeks memorizing this man’s entire emotional library.
“What package?” I ask, brows raised.
He shrugs, too delayed to be natural. “Just merch stuff. Nothing important.”
Uh-huh.
Sure.
And I’m the Queen of France.
I narrow my eyes. “You’re a shitty liar.”
He smirks. “And you’re cute when you try to interrogate me.”
“Stop deflecting.”
He leans down, drags his tongue across my mouth. “I’m not deflecting.”
“You’re absolutely deflecting,” I say, crossing my arms.
He tilts his head. “If it were something bad, I’d tell you.”
A half-truth dressed up like a reassurance but still sketchy enough to make me frown.
And here’s the disturbing part…I’m starting to accept this.
All of it.
The secrets. The protection. The tension. The way he folds himself around me like a shield. The way he watches everyone who gets within ten feet of me.
No sane person should accept this.
But maybe I’m not sane anymore. Maybe I’m…falling.
The thought makes my stomach twist in a lethal mix of fear and excitement as Zane wraps an arm around my waist, pulls me into his side, presses a kiss to my temple.
The kind of kiss that saysI was born for this moment and will die without it.
And fuck me to Tahiti and back, I lean in.
On purpose.
Because regardless of how controlling or obsessive or unhinged he is, there is another truth rising in my chest, one I’ve been ignoring, drowning, denying.
I’m way more than halfway to falling in love with Zane Draven.
God help me.
And God helphimif I ever say it out loud.
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