Just like fire.
Just like him.
Just like… us.
He doesn’t speak.
But the air between us crackles.
And I wonder—if I leaned forward just an inch, would he meet me the rest of the way?
Would he make me burn again?
And if he did… would I let him?
He leans forward slowly, deliberate as ever, but this time it’s different.
His hand reaches for mine—not commanding, not claiming.
Just reaching.
Like he wants to feel something real. Like he wants me.
“You are unlike anyone I’ve ever met,” Thorne murmurs, voice as low and warm as the embers still glowing outside the wide crystal-paneled windows.
I swallow, hard, pulse tapping fast beneath my skin.
“That’s not always a compliment,” I whisper, trying to lighten the moment, to break the spell he’s weaving without even trying.
But his eyes don’t flicker with amusement. They darken.
“In this case, Shula,” he says, “it is.”
And then the coach jolts.
Just a small bump in the road, but I lurch forward slightly—and his reaction is instant.
Powerful arms move around me, fast and sure. A reflex. A need.
He catches me like I weigh nothing, bracketing me with his body, pulling me tight against his chest.
The world outside blurs past in streaks of flame and ash and light, but I barely notice.
Because I’m not breathing.
Neither is he.
His body is so close—heat radiating in waves, his scent thick with smoke and spice and something earthy I can’t name.
My hands are trapped between us, splayed against the solid muscle of his chest.
I don’t move.
Neither does he.
We’re caught in it. Whatever this is.
The air between us turns molten.
