James.
He’s not moving, just watching us.His hands clenched into fists, his face a mask of possessive rage.As my eyes adjust, I see something else in the tight set of his jaw, in the tremor of his lip…
A wounded disbelief and a flicker of what looks like regret.
The sight of him watching me with Matthew against the very wall that was a monument to his betrayal sends a triumphant surge of defiance through me.I drag Matthew’s mouth back to mine, kissing him with a fierceness that is a claiming, fueled as much by the man watching us as by the desperate hunger for the man in my arms.
Matthew’s lips leave mine to trace a scorching path down my jawline to the sensitive skin of my neck.I gasp, my head falling back against the wall, arching into him.
His name escapes my lips, a ragged, breathless whisper.“Matt…”
Here, on the very spot that once symbolized my pain, Matthew is helping me rewrite my history.And every cell in my body screams its answer.
Yes.
FORTY FOUR
THE CLUB’S BASS line begins to seep back into my awareness.A dull, relentless throb from another universe.Matthew’s body is a furnace against my front.His arms are wrapped around me; my hands are clinging to his shoulders.His eyes, when they finally open onto mine, are blown wide.Pupils dark, swallowing the green.They blaze with an unguarded intensity that mirrors the inferno he just ignited in me.He searches my face, his gaze dropping to my lips, swollen from his kiss, then back to my eyes.And even amidst the haze of passion, I realize: this time this isn’t just a reaction.This isn’t a performance.
This is inevitable.
Matthew cups the side of my face.His thumb brushes across my kiss-bruised lower lip, almost reverently, sending a fresh shiver through me.
The intensity in his eyes doesn’t lessen, but a new urgency tightens his jaw.“Come home with me.”His gravelly words are lost between a question and a plea.
Words fail me.I give a short, shaky nod, my body aflame, every nerve ending pulsing with a desperate need for him.
A faintly triumphant smile ghosts Matthew’s lips before his hand slides from my jaw to wrap around my fingers.When he straightens and steps back, his intensity shifts from pure desire to focused urgency.My legs feel strangely disconnected, moving of their own accord, following his lead without hesitation as he navigates us through the crowded dance floor to the exit.
The club’s energy is replaced by the shriek of a distant siren and the blare of a car horn.The sounds are sharp and startling.The cool air clears my head just enough to register Matthew’s firm grip as he leads me through the parking lot, stopping at his dark sedan.
He opens the passenger door, and I slide inside, the scent of leather and him enveloping me.For a moment, I just watch his silhouette cross in front of the headlights, a solid shape against the night.
The driver’s side door opens, and he slips in, plunging the car into an intimate quiet.The engine purrs to life.He shifts in his seat, his arm brushing mine as he reaches for the gearstick.Before putting the car in drive, he pauses and extends his hand, resting it palm up on the center console between us.
A silent offer.
A question.
My breath catches, my lower lip slipping between my teeth.An unseen current pulls my hand forward until it meets his, palm to palm.His fingers immediately lace through mine with a quiet, definitive possessiveness that sends a tremor of pure, resonant connection through my entire body.
He gives my hand a squeeze before his other one shifts the car into gear.The engine hums, and we pull smoothly out of the parking lot, leaving the chaos of Hydra behind us.
My breathing sounds too loud in the enclosed space.Shallow and quick.I risk a glance at Matthew.His profile is stark in the fleeting glow of passing streetlights, jaw tight, his focus seemingly on the road.But I can see the slight tremor in the hand gripping the steering wheel.I hear the subtle catch in his breathing that mirrors my own.
He feels it too.This unbearable, unvoiced anticipation.
Words feel impossible.Dangerous, even.
Like striking a match in a room filled with fumes.One wrong syllable and whatever fragile, intensely combustible understanding we’ve reached might detonate prematurely.
Matthew’s hand remains laced with mine, his thumb occasionally stroking my skin.Each light caress sparks a pure want that coils deep in my core as we race towards the privacy his house promises.
The city lights bleed away, replaced by the hushed darkness of his neighborhood.Matthew turns onto his street and pulls into the driveway.
He cuts the engine.The sudden silence is no longer filled with the hum of the road, but with the deafening, unspoken question of what comes next.
My heart is a frantic bird, fluttering against my ribcage.
