“It’s not lying if he hasn’t asked you directly,” Ridge says finally, stepping closer. “You’re being careful, just like Laurent Boudreaux.”
Now he’s close enough that I can see the thick line of his beard framing his jaw, the way his lips press together like he’s holding something back.
“Your father’s smart,” he adds. “Self-preservation is in his blood.”
“He has so much anger toward you,” I say. “More than I expected. Sometimes it sounds like he’s already decided how this ends. The way he talks, it’s like he’s certain Duvall will take you out.”
I hesitate, the words backing up in my throat.
I don’t say that this is what I’ve been afraid of all along. Not losing Ridge specifically, but losing the structure that kept everything contained. The routines, the unspokenagreements, the way the uglier parts stayed buried beneath paperwork and process, where no one had to look at them too closely.
This is different. It’s messier, and now that all of this has surfaced, I fear it won’t stop cleanly.
Ridge’s mouth curves faintly.
“Well, let’s not get carried away,” he says. “I’m not sure I want Laurent seeing me through your eyes.”
I huff. “Fair. I’m already distracted enough by what you have hiding behind those tight pants.”
His attention snaps fully to me.
“Mmm,” he murmurs as he sits beside me, close enough that heat radiates from his body.
I turn serious again. “He’s not wrong about one thing. If this keeps escalating with the Duvalls, it’s going to spill beyond anyone’s control. At some point, it won’t be something you can contain or manage. It scares me.”
Ridge stops a breath away from me, his eyes steady on mine.
“That’s exactly what I’m trying to prevent.”
The conviction in his voice lands harder than I expect. Not because I doubt him, but because he sounds settled. Like he’s already weighed the cost and accepted it.
“And what am I supposed to do if I lose you?” I ask quietly. “If he hurts you the way he hurt your father?”
He doesn’t answer right away. His hand lifts, brushing a strand of hair from my face. The touch is careful. Controlled. Almost reverent.
“I won’t let it spiral,” Ridge says quietly. “But my father’s murder doesn’t go unanswered. That’s the line I can’t step around.”
There’s nothing to argue with. Maybe there never was.
The silence between us thickens, heavy with everything we aren’t saying.
Then one of us moves. I’m not sure who.
My hands land on his chest, savoring the steady strength beneath my palms. His mouth takes mine in a kiss that is raw and consuming, stripped of anything gentle. This is Ridge. Desperate in a way he never allows himself to be anywhere else.
His hands grip my waist, pulling me closer, and my body yields without hesitation. I melt into him like this is exactly where I belong, even if I don’t want to admit it.
His kiss is not a promise. It’s a claim.
“You know this can’t stay a secret forever,” he says against my lips, rough and dark.
“Forever starts right now,” I murmur.
The danger feeds it. The secrecy sharpens the need running through me. My nails rake over his shoulders, a low sound escaping my throat.
The truth is, the risk of us is part of how this began. The taboo, the tension, the way his touch makes everything else fall away. I know it, and I accept it.
I press closer, wanting him with an urgency that leaves no room for restraint.
