“I’m not hiding.”
“No?” he murmurs. “Then why do you only come back when you think no one’s looking?”
His other hand braces beside mine, trapping me between the piano and his body. Every inch of me is on fire. He doesn’t kiss me. Not yet. He just… waits. And I hate him for knowing I’ll break the silence first.
I hold his gaze. Refuse to look away. But he’s the one who moves. Cillian straightens slowly, hand falling from the piano like it never meant anything. Like I didn’t just hand him my pulse and dare him to squeeze. Without a word, he walks to the door. Clicks the lock. The sound is soft. Final. A velvet threat.
Then he turns, one brow arched, a ghost of a smirk at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, and darling?”
I lift my chin.
“If you’re going to steal my car,” he says, voice dark silk and smoke, “try not to leave it parked like a bloody declaration on the front drive next time.”
He leaves me there. Hands trembling. Heart howling.
