“I know.” I turn to face him, and God, even in the dim light of the parking garage, he’s devastating. All sharp edges and soft eyes, this impossible contradiction of a man who makes me feel safe and terrified all at once.
“So,” he answers, and there’s relief in his voice. Relief that I’m not running. That I’m willing to stay and give us a shot. “What do you want, Small Town?” He reaches over, and his fingers find mine, lacing through them with the same easy intimacy we had on the dance floor. It is as if we had been doing this for years, not weeks, as if my hand had been made to fit in his.
I take a breath.
Then another.
And then I take that leap.
“Do you want to come in?” The question hangs between us, barely above a whisper, and I watch his expression shift. Watch the understanding dawn in those dark eyes. Watch his throat work as he swallows hard.
“Marley.” My name sounds like a prayer. Like a warning. Like everything I’ve ever wanted to hear. “If I come in, I’m not gonna want to leave.”
“Good.” My voice is steadier now, sure. “Because I don’t want you to.”
For a heartbeat, he just looks at me.
Really looks at me.
As if he’s trying to memorize every detail. The red hair that’s probably a disaster after dancing. The curves that Derek spent six years making me hate.
Then, without warning, he climbs out of the car and rounds it to open my door before I can reach for the handle. His hand extends toward me, and when I take it, when his fingers close around mine, that same electric current from the first night I met him sparks between us.
The night he picked me up when I was broken.
The night that changedeverything.
We don’t speak as we cross the parking garage, step into the elevator, and ride up to my floor in a silence so charged I can barely breathe. Nitro’s thumb traces circles on the back ofmy hand, and that slight touch is somehow more intimate than anything we did on the dance floor.
My hands shake as I unlock the door, and I’m hyperaware of him behind me, of the heat radiating off his massive frame, and of the way he’s watching me like a predator on the hunt.
The apartment is dark, just the glow of the city filtering through the windows. I moved in here just over a week ago, escaping Derek’s cruelty and starting fresh, and somehow Nitro has already become part of this space with me. His jacket is draped over the sofa from a few days ago. The coffee mug he used is sitting by the sink. Little pieces of him are integrating into my life without me even noticing.
I turn to face him, and he’s right there, filling the doorway, this mountain of a man who could break me in half but holds me like I’m made of glass.
“Marley.” He steps inside, the door clicking shut behind him. “We don’t have to—”
I spin without hesitation, rising on my tiptoes, grab the front of his tuxedo jacket, and pull him down to me. I kiss him the way I’ve wanted to since that first night. The way I’ve been dreaming about for weeks. Desperate, hungry, and real.
He makes a sound low in his throat, surprise morphing into something darker, needier. His hands find my waist, span it completely, and then he lifts me, pressing me back against the door, his mouth moving against mine as if he’s starving, and I’m the only thing that can save him.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathes against my lips. “Marley, you’re—”
“Don’t you dare say I’m beautiful,” I interrupt, my hands sliding into his hair. “Don’t you dare make this about—”
“You’re fucking stunning,” he growls, and the words hit me like a physical blow. “You’re gorgeous and brilliant and so goddamn brave it terrifies me. And I’m going to spend all night proving it to you.”
His mouth crashes back to mine before I can catch my breath, and this time there’s no hesitation in the way he kisses me. No careful testing of boundaries. His hands frame my face as though he’s trying to memorize the shape of me, thumbs stroking my cheekbones while his tongue slides against mine in a rhythm that makes my knees buckle.
“Nitro…” I gasp against his lips, and he swallows my breath, pulling me tighter against his chest.
“I know,” he murmurs, his voice wrecked. “I know, baby. I’ve got you.”
His hands slide down to my waist, then lower, and suddenly I’m being lifted. My legs wrap around him instinctively, my heels digging into his lower back as he carries me through the apartment like I weigh nothing. The world blurs around us, the hallway wall where he pins me for another bruising kiss, the doorframe of the bedroom where he pauses to kick the door wider, the soft light spilling in from the living room that casts shadows across his face.
When he finally sets me down, my feet touch the floor, but my hands don’t leave him. I’m clutching his shirt, his jacket, anything I can reach, terrified that if I let go, this moment will shatter like glass.
“Marley.” He says my name like a prayer, his forehead pressed to mine. “We don’t have to. If you need time—”
