I don’t even close my eyes.
I just sit, watching her. The way her pulse flutters in her throat. The way her lips part when she exhales. She’s trying to pretend she’s calm, but I can feel her tension. I can almosttaste it.
She has no idea what she’s done to me. I swore I’d never let another woman get this close. Never give Luke another target to aim at. It’s too late now; I’m already past the point of no return.
When we step off this plane and she tries to pretend none of this ever happened, I already know I’ll touch her again.
Not because I want to.
Because I need to.
Because she’s mine, whether or not she wants to admit it yet.
Chapter 22
LOCKE
We land in Verona around 10 p.m. Street lamps spill pools of golden light onto the cobblestones, and the rhythmic clicking of her boots echoes through the cool night air as we head toward the car. Every step she takes draws my attention like a magnet I can’t pull away from.
She says nothing. Just slips into the back seat, legs crossed, eyes forward like I’m not even here. I slide in next to her, close enough to feel the heat radiating off her skin, but I keep my hands to myself — for now.
The driver is a shadow in the front seat, quiet and discreet. The silence inside the car rings even louder in my ears than the jet engines we just left behind.
Outside, Verona creeps past the windows in slow motion. Candlelight flickers on tables in crowded piazzas, where clusters of people linger over late dinners and last glasses of wine. Warmth glows from behind shuttered windows and spills over balconies heavy with flowers.
It’s the kind of beauty that asks nothing of you, just exists to be admired. Arden tries to hide it, but I see that glimmer in her eyes. She can’t get enough.
I’m not looking at any of it, not really.
I only see her.
I watch the way she bites the inside of her cheek, the tension in her shoulders, the flicker in her eyes she can’t hide. She’s trying not to betray herself, not to give anything away. But I can see the cracks forming in her armor.
The drive stretches on, agonizingly slow, until we finally roll to a stop in front of the villa. It’s a weathered stone building, with a wrought-iron gate and candles flickering in the windows, castingjagged shadows across the ivy climbing its walls. It’s the kind of place that would be soft and romantic if the air between us weren’t already so charged it feels ready to explode.
She steps out first, and I follow immediately, close enough to catch the sway of her hair, the jasmine scent of her perfume rolling off her body. Every step she takes is mine to anticipate. Every glance she thinks she hides, I see.
It’s almost laughable how she still carries herself with that untouchable poise, pretending she’s in control when we both know the very air between us is a live wire.
The moment we’re through the door, the energy shifts. There’s no staff. No distractions. No aisle between us. Just stone walls, low lights, and the heavy silence of the villa.
“Arden.” Her name is a low vibration in my throat. I don’t hide the hunger anymore. The flight is over. The wait is, too.
She stops, her back to me for a heartbeat before she turns. Her voice is frayed, but she’s still trying to hold the line. “We’re finally here, Locke. Like I said... go to sleep. We both should.”
She’s trying to hide behind the same dismissal she used on the plane, but here, in the shadows of the villa, it sounds more like a challenge. She’s not tired; she’s vibrating with the same restless energy that’s currently hollowing out my chest.
“That’s not going to work this time,” I murmur, closing in on her.
It only takes two steps, and I’m in her space, but she doesn’t retreat. Her ocean-blue eyes stay glued to mine, and the flame I saw at 30,000 feet is now a blazing inferno.
I take another step, forcing her back until her spine meets the cool stone wall. I don’t stop until my body forms a cage around her, arms on both sides of her head, and my hips pinning her in place.
I can feel her pulse skittering against my own. It beats at a frantic pace that tells me everything she isn’t saying.
“Go to sleep, Locke,” she whispers again, but the words lack conviction, dying in the inch of space between our lips.
“Come on, Arden. We both know that’s not what you really want.” I look down at her. There’s nowhere left for her to run. I can feel the heat radiating off her, see the way her chest rises and falls in the same frantic rhythm I’ve been tracking for hours.
