This was different.
It wasn’t just the way his fingers made my breath hitch or how my body responded to his touch. It was the way he never broke eye contact. The way he kept me grounded with his knee pressed to mine, his voice steady while everything inside me unraveled.
I lift my wine glass, take a slow sip, and immediately regret it because it does absolutely nothing to cool the heat pooling low in my stomach.
I’m not reckless.
I don’t do impulsive.
And yet here I am, sitting in a candlelit Italian restaurant, already knowing—deep in my bones—that going back to hisplace is a terrible idea. A deliciously terrible idea that I’m not about to say no to.
I smooth my hands over my dress, trying to regain some semblance of composure before he comes back, but it’s useless. My thoughts are already running ahead of me, replaying the way his mouth curved in a knowing smile, the quiet confidence in his touch.
A few minutes later, Rhett escorts me out of the restaurant, one arm wrapped around his.
Outside, the air is crisp, the contrast sobering and exhilarating all at once. Rhett drapes his jacket over my shoulders without a word, while we wait for the valet to return with his truck. I wrap it around me, soaking in the warm and inhaling the intoxicating scent of his cologne that lingers on the collar.
“Thank you for dinner,” I say softly.
“Anytime.”
The ride back to his place is filled with more pleasant small talk and Rhett making sure that I’m still on board for wherever this night might lead.
When we pull into his driveway, neither of us moves right away.
The engine clicks as it cools.
Rhett turns to me. “Last chance to change your mind. You say the words and I’ll take you home right now.”
I meet his gaze.
“I want to,” I say. “Stay, that is.”
His smile is slow and unmistakably satisfied.
“Okay,” he says, opening his door. “Come on.”
As we step into the quiet of his house and the door closes behind us, the rest of the world fades away, and I just know, what happens next is going to change everything.
eight
. . .
Rhett
The second thefront door shuts behind us, all restraint snaps.
I don’t even pretend otherwise.
Bristol barely has time to take two steps into my living room before I’m crowding her space, one hand braced against the door, the other cradling her jaw, thumb brushing her lower lip as I press my body against hers, letting her feel the effect she has on me.
Her breath catches.
Mine does too.
“Still okay?” I ask, because I need to hear it.
“Yes,” she says immediately.
