The words are a match to gasoline.
“She will never step foot in this place again,” I say, each word measured. “If she does, I will shut this down myself, and you will not get a warning.”
Jak stiffens, but he doesn’t argue or point out that he’s stuck between a rock and a hard place.
“Understood.”
I hold his gaze a moment longer, making sure the weight of that warning settles, then step past him without another word.
Outside, the night air is heavy and humid with Savannah heat. My car is idling at the curb. Devin stands next to the open door with shaky hands, while Aly is already inside curled up on the seat. Her bare legs are drawn up to her chest, and her face is buried in the collar of my jacket.
I get in and sit beside her.
The world narrows, and all I hear is the quiet hum of the engine and the soft sound of Aly’s breathing. I don’t look at her. I don’t trust myself to. My hands rest on my thighs, clenched hard enough that my knuckles ache, jaw locked as I force my anger down into something contained, something usable.
If I speak now, I will roar.
If I touch her now, I will not stop.
The car pulls away from the curb, then city lights slide past in blurry streaks. Aly shivers, and the jacket slips, exposing toomuch skin. Before I can stop myself, I adjust it. My fingers brush her shoulder and immediately heat flares at the contact.
She flinches first, then leans into it. Her body angles toward mine as if seeking shelter. The sight nearly undoes me.
I draw her closer; slowly and carefully. She burrows into my side and presses her head against my chest. I can feel her warm breath through the thin fabric of my shirt. She trembles, and I wrap an arm around her without thinking, anchoring her there.
“It’s over,” I murmur, my voice rough. “You’re safe.”
She nods, and wraps her fingers around my shirt, clutching it in her fist; holding on like I’m the only solid thing left in the world. The trust in that simple gesture is a weight I feel keenly, settling heavy and irrevocably.
“I shouldn’t have gone,” she whispers.
No, you shouldn’t have, I think, but I don’t say that. Instead, I tilt my head down until my mouth is near her hair. I inhale deeply, breathing inher scent; sweat, fear, and something sweet.
“No,” I say instead. “You shouldn’t have been put in a position where that place was the only option.”
She stills, then pulls back just enough to look up at me. Her eyes search my face, and she asks, “You mean it?”
“I always mean it,” I say.
Something shifts. It’s fragile and dangerous. She swallows hard before whispering, “I’m yours.”
The words hit like a blow.
I didn’t ask for them. They are offered, raw and unguarded. Every instinct in me surges to claim them. Sealing that truth into something permanent and unbreakable.
I cup her face, my thumb brushing the corner of her mouth, my restraint hanging by a thread. “Careful,” I murmur. “You don’t say things like that unless you understand what they cost.”
Her eyes don’t waver. “I do.”
The rest of the drive passes in charged silence. Her body is soft and warm against mine. The estate gates swing open and the house rises ahead of us, lights glowing amber against the night.
I lead her into the house, but tonight everything feels different. It’s a heavy feeling as if the walls are holding their breath. Instead of turning toward her suite, we turn into my bedroom. The space is filled with dark wood and old stone. It’s a mix of southern architecture and Russian severity.
I shut the door behind us.
Aly’s hands are on me before I turn, slipping beneath my belt, drawing me closer by the hips in a way that almost has me stumbling.
The room is dark, with only the light of a standing lamp in the corner outlining formless furniture and space. Her lips find mine, and it’s all heat and shadow and soft skin as she presses against me. Nika’s jacket falls to the floor, revealing her full breasts and making my fingers twitch with want.
