“You felt me.”
The wind lifts my hair across my face and for a second his hand moves like he’s going to brush it away.
He stops himself halfway, like he’s afraid of what one gentle touch will do to both of us.
“I can’t promise you an easy life,” he says. “But I can promise you I won’t ever let another man touch you again.”
“That sounds like ownership.”
“It sounds like love.”
The word lingers between us.
Dangerous.
The ocean hammers the shoreline behind him, relentless.
I shake my head slowly. “You’re engaged.”
“I know.”
“You sleep under the same roof.”
“I know.”
“You had her in your bed.”
His eyes flash, dark. “She walked in. I didn’t invite her.”
“Your dick wasn’t in her?”
He looks away. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
He steps closer until there is barely space left between us. I can feel the heat of him like a second sun in the night. My body reacts, traitorous, remembering his hands, his mouth, the way he said my name like he owned the syllables.
“Give me one real date,” he says.
I let out a quiet laugh. “This isn’t a movie.”
“One real date,” he repeats. “No club. No politics. No Carmen.”
“You think she won’t find out?”
His mouth curves slightly, something darker beneath the surface. “Let her.”
The words should scare me.
They do.
They also make something hot twist low in my stomach.
“You want one date,” I say slowly.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
