She crossed to the coffee table and ran her fingers across the cedar box. “You fix things when you’re trying to stabilize your emotions . . . when you’re trying to ground yourself.”
She said it without judgement.
He wasn’t sure he liked how well she could read him. He was sure she didn’t like it that he seemed able to read her just as well.
“It helps. We all need something to heal us when the world spins.”
“What if we don’t know what heals us?” she asked, her voice raw. She looked away for a moment before a sigh escaped her. Then she turned back to him, as if she were forcing herself to do so. She lifted her chin and met his eyes.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he studied the way her hair fell over her shoulder, the slight unevenness in her breath. Harmony was never uncollected—but in this moment, she was raw. Was it him? Did he have that much power over her? Maybe they both had equal power over the other. That was a terrifying thought.
She stepped closer.
His heart skipped a beat. “You never returned my message,” he said quietly.
“I didn’t know what to say when you sent it.”
He swallowed. “And now?”
“Now,” she murmured. She moved closer still. “I’m ready to answer. I wanted to do it . . . in person.”
Her fingers brushed the inside of his wrist—barely a touch, but enough to light every nerve in his arm. She always knew where to touch him to make him forget everything but her. He caught her hand, holding it.
He shook his head, refusing to fall under her spell. “You scare me,” he said with a smirk as he took back control.
She did frighten him. But she excited him, too. He wasn’t sure which emotion was winning.
Harmony didn’t try to break free from his grasp. She liked it. She wanted him in control—wanted him to make her forget everything except for the moment the two of them existed in. Maybe that’s what drew him back to her again and again.
“You see me better than anyone else,” she whispered.
She raised her free hand and traced the line of his jaw, her fingernail dragging lightly along his bottom lip. A soft growl escaped him. This was a dance that neither of them seemed to know how to exit.
“Stay,” he said. He wasn’t letting her go . . . not tonight. It was a demand, not a request.
Her lips curved in a whisper of something between affection and danger. “Yes . . . for now.”
The space between them vanished. Her mouth met his with a familiarity that felt earned and inevitable. His hands gripped her waist, pulling her in, her body warm and yielding against his. Something unspoken cracked in the air—an electric tension that neither of them tried to name. They never named the things that could destroy them.
When she pulled back, her lips hovering just below his, they were both breathing hard. Passion had never been their problem.
“This doesn’t mean anything more than a single moment,” she whispered.
It was easier to lie when the truth wanted too much.
He shook his head. “You can tell yourself that all you want, but it doesn’t make it true.”
A flicker passed through her eyes. She didn’t like that he saw her so well, but she still couldn’t resist him. She wasn’t used to being the weaker person. It was good for her. It’s most likely why she couldn’t stay away, why she inevitably came back again and again, and why he waited for her to do so.
She kissed him again—this time with anger and frustration. The passion overrode it all, and the electricity was nearly too much to bear. This was a claiming and surrender all in one. He lifted her, and no more words were spoken for a long while.
Hours later, when they finally sank onto the couch—her head resting on his chest—Zach allowed himself a deep breath. He realized that Avalon wasn’t finished with either of them. He prayed it never would be.
Harmony traced patterns against his chest, her nails dragging lightly over old scars, sending goosebumps along his flesh.
“The story isn’t over,” she whispered.
“I know,” he said, leaning back and closing his eyes. “We still have a dance to finish.” He had no doubt she’d follow as soon as his arms wrapped around her.
