“Then pretend,” he murmurs, already turning toward the door. “Pretending is what keeps us alive.”
When he’s gone, the quiet presses in again—different now, warmer and heavier. I stare down at the open page in my lap, the ink blurring slightly. I can’t remember the words. Just the way he saidmine.
I close the book with a soft thud and stand, suddenly restless, nerves humming under my skin. The house feels… aware. Like it’s watching me right back.
I rise from my spot and step into the hall, and nearly collide with a wall of black ink, muscle, and trouble.Vale. Of course it’s Vale.
He’s way too close to me, like he doesn’t even need permission. Leaning casually against the opposite wall like he planned it, knowing he looks like a Spanish god. It’s almost like he was waiting just for me.
“Careful, Red,” he drawls. “You’ll run into the wrong man like that.”
My pulse kicks—hard. “Pretty sure youarethe wrong man.”
His grin is immediate. Sharp, and satisfied—like he thoroughly enjoys getting under my skin. “That’s what makes it…Fun.”
His gaze drags over me, slow and unapologetic. Takes in the tension in my shoulders. The way I’m still breathing like I forgot how. “Rough morning?” he asks, knowing damn good and well it has been.
I snort. “Define rough.”
He hums. “Heard voices.”
My stomach flips. “You all hear everything.”
“Occupational hazard.” His eyes flick to my lips, then back up. “Also… I’m very observant.”
Heat creeps up my neck. “Congratulations.”
He steps closer. Not crowding. Just enough that the air shifts.
“You know,” he murmurs, “he’s subtle. Always has been. Quiet hands. Careful movements. Like he’s afraid you’ll break.”
My breath catches before I can stop it. His knuckles brush my hip. Barely. A deliberate almost-touch that'’s meant to keep me off kilter.
“I’m not,” I whisper.
His eyes lift, slow and dark. “I know.”
His hand settles this time. Not squeezing. Not grabbing. Just there. Warm. Possessive. Thumb pressing gently into the curve of my waist like he’s mapping space.
My body betrays me, leaning in before I can stop it.
Vale notices, and a wicked smile curves his mouth. “There it is.”
“Stop,” I say, but it’s weak. Useless.
“Make me.”
His fingers slide—just an inch, just enough—brushing over the fabric of my shirt, grazing my ribs, slow and teasing like he’s got nowhere else to be. I shiver. He leans in, voice dropping. “You think I didn’t notice the way he touched you last night?”
My pulse stutters hard. His smile deepens, dangerous and thrilled by my reaction. “Relax,” he murmurs. “I’m not mad.”
His thumb traces a lazy line at my waist. “I’m interested.”
Heat floods my face. “You’re impossible.”
“God, I hope so.”
His other hand rises, knuckles brushing the line of my jaw. Over skin. Over heat. Over everything I’m pretending not to feel. “You think I don’t enjoy the idea of him getting there first?” he asks quietly. “Watching you come undone for someone else?”
