"They all look at you like you're something to be scared of. But you're not scary." I pause, gathering courage. "You're gentle. I've seen it."
Something shifts in his expression. A crack in the armor. So small I might have imagined it, but I don't think I did.
"You don't know anything about me."
"I know you stopped for me when you didn't have to. I know you've barely left my side since." I hold his gaze when he finally turns to look at me. "I know you're not the monster you want people to think you are."
Silence stretches between us. The air feels charged, electric, heavy with something I can't name. I can see his jaw tighten. Can see the war happening behind his eyes—the same war I've been fighting all day, the one between what's smart and what I want.
"You're too trusting," he says roughly. "It's going to get you hurt."
"Maybe." I don't look away. "But I'd rather trust too much than not enough."
I don't know which one of us moves first.
Maybe both. Maybe neither. Maybe it's just gravity, finally winning.
But suddenly his hand is cupping my jaw, rough palm against my cheek, and my fingers are fisting in his shirt, and his mouth is on mine.
He kisses like he does everything else—intense, focused, all-consuming. No hesitation. No gentleness. Just heat and want and the taste of coffee and something darker underneath, something that makes me gasp against his lips.
I pull him closer. Want more.Needmore. My hands slide up his chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath his shirt, the rapid pound of his heart. His other hand finds my hip, pulling me closer, and I go willingly.
Then he breaks away.
Pulls back. Puts distance between us. His breathing ragged, his eyes dark, his expression shuttering closed like a door slamming shut.
"This can't happen."
"Why not?" My voice comes out breathless. My whole body is humming, aching, desperate for him to close the distance again.
"Because you're under my protection." His jaw is tight. His hands are clenched at his sides. "I don't take advantage of that."
"What if I want this?" I stand, closing the distance he put between us. "What if I've been wanting this since you pulled over on that road?"
Something raw flickers in his eyes. Want. Need. The same desperate hunger I feel burning through my own veins.
Then it's gone.
"Get some sleep, Fleur."
He walks inside without looking back.
I stay on the steps for a long time after. Heart pounding. Lips tingling. Aching in places I shouldn't be aching for a man I just met.
The desert stretches out ahead of me, dark and endless. Somewhere out there is the life I ran from. The man I almost married. The woman I used to be—naive, trusting, too grateful for attention to ask the questions that mattered.
I'm not that woman anymore.
And tomorrow, I'm going to make him understand that this isn't about protection. This isn't about gratitude or fear or having nowhere else to go.
This is abouthim.
Aboutus.
About what I felt the moment his mouth touched mine—something that has nothing to do with running away, and everything to do with runningtoward.
I just have to convince him to let me.
