In one quick, fluid motion, his arm wrapped around my waist, yanking me flush against him. His other hand clamped over my mouth—firm, warm, absolute.
The suddenness of it stole my breath. The burn of his palm. The strength in his grip. The command in every line of his body.
“Shhh,” he murmured at my ear, voice low, almost gentle—but laced with something darker.
His breath traced the curve of my neck, skating across skin already too aware of him. A sudden shiver rippled down my spine. My stomachfluttered. For a second, my mind simply—shorted out.
What the hell was that?
I tried to pull back, but he didn’t let me go. My back was pressed hard against his chest, his body solid and hot behind me. He was taller, broader—my head barely reached his shoulder—and every inch of him radiated heat and tension.
And gods, he smelled good. Like smoked single malt and dark intent, a scent that curled straight into my bloodstream and set every nerve humming.
My heart started to pound in my chest, but not out of fear—not of the Radicals, not of being caught.
No, this was different.
This waswant—immediate, fast, and reckless.
Adrenaline surged through me, dizzying and electric, like my body had just remembered what it craved and didn’t care what followed.
Why the hell was I reacting like this—tohim? My heart was supposed to belong to James.
Wasn’t it?
Or had the slow decay of trust finally shattered whatever I’d been holding on to?
But the moment Caden’s hand slid along my side—slow, deliberate—all thoughts of James vanished like smoke.
His touch was a question and a claim, his fingers trailing fire through the fabric of my clothes until it felt like I was burning from the inside out. I trembled, just once, my body betraying me with another shiver I couldn’t control.
It had been months since anyone touched me—really touched me. And now, the intimacy of his hand skimming my waist made my breath catch, sharp and uneven. A sound rose in my throat—a moan, a plea—but I swallowed it, locking it behind my teeth.
Goosebumps rippled across my skin.
He felt it.
His hand paused, lingering, savoring. Then his grip tightened—firm, demanding—fingers pressing into my side just enough to make my pulse stutter. The space between us buzzed like static, every inch of him radiating need and restraint.
His head dipped lower, his breath brushing against my temple—soft, warm, infuriating.
My heart hammered in my chest like it was trying to outrun me. Push him away. Pull him closer. I couldn’t tell which urge was louder.
“Are you cold?” he murmured, his voice low, smooth as sin, completely unaware of the raw desire curling beneath my skin.
I nodded, because I couldn’t speak.
Not with his hand still over my mouth.
Not with the truth igniting inside me.
Slowly, his other hand drifted between us, trailing down my spine in a touch so unhurried it sent another shiver skittering across my skin. What the hell was he doing?
Then, in one fluid motion, he pulled me even closer, his grip firm and possessive. My breath caught as his hand slipped away from my mouth, and the soft, measured sound of a zipper being pulled down filled the charged air between us.
Oh. He was adjusting his jacket. Trying to shield me from the cold. Which made sense. Since I’d been shivering. And told him I was cold.
Which I wasn’t. Not even a little.
