Something warm spread through her chest. It reminded her of when she’d choose something she wanted for herself as a child. And God help her, she liked it. She waited. “You think I’d leave without a fight?” she asked.
His hand slid to her waist then, firm and anchoring. “Option me.”
That did it. Her stomach flipped as warmth rushed through her, fast and bright and terrifying. “You don’t even know what you’re asking.”
“I know exactly what I’m asking.” His thumb brushed just under her ribs, slow and possessive. “You…” Silence engulfed them as she waited. “You belong near the water. Near hurricanes. Near chaos.” His eyes held hers. “And near me.”
The air shifted, becoming thicker with tension and heat as the space between them disappeared. Her thoughts tried to scramble for logic.This is too fast. It’s the adrenaline because of the drama, because we’re close…But her heart, traitor that it was, surged forward. “I don’t scare easy.”
“Good,” he replied. “Because I don’t plan on letting you go.”
That was it. That was the moment her mind tipped. Desire brushed the edge of her consciousness like a wave testing the shore.I should walk this back, maybe slow this down.Instead, she stepped closer, eyes boring into his. “Convince me.” She breathed out.
He moved, not gently, not rough, just deliberate. His hands slid up her waist, over her ribs, one bracing behind her shoulder as he backed her into the wall.
The impact wasn’t hard. But it made a statement. His mouth found hers in a kiss that wasn’t hesitant anymore. It wasn’t exploratory. It was claiming. Heat poured through her as his hand moved down her hip, back to her waist, fingers tightening.
Her body arched instinctively. She kissed him back with equal hunger, hands gripping his shirt, pulling him closer.
Her mind whispered:You’re falling.The thought couldn’t make her stop.
His mouth dragged from her lips to her jaw, down to the curve of her neck. His hand slid along her thigh, fingers pressing just enough to make her gasp. “Having you stay,” he murmured against her skin, “means something to me.”
Her heart thundered. “I know,” she whispered. She was all in, and she didn’t even try to deny it anymore as his hand flattened against her lower back, pulling her flush against him.
The heat between them was no longer subtle. It was undeniable.
Then… DING.
Channel 16 exploded from his radio, echoing in the small room. “Roper. Duval. Bridge. Now.”
Cal. Damn it!
Wyatt groaned, breathing hard. He rested his forehead against hers and exhaled once. Her fingers still gripped his shirt with her heart racing.
But something had shifted permanently. “Not finished,” he brushed his lips across hers.
She smiled, breathless. “Not even close.”
He stepped back reluctantly, jaw tight, eyes still dark, claiming her hand in his.
WYATT
When they climbed the metal stairs to The Bridge, Cal was already standing at the main screen. Rhea had returned, soaked from the rain, hair pulled back, fingers flying over the keyboard.
Something had shifted in the room.
“What’ve we got?” Wyatt asked, voice back to steady command.
Cal didn’t waste time. “Driscoll wasn’t freelancing.”
The screen changed. A still frame from marina security. It wasn’t the night of the gala. The timestamp showed three days earlier as Letty stepped closer, cringing. “That’s Will.”
The man stood, clear as day, at the far edge of Dock C while he talked to Driscoll. Just two men in casual conversation.
“That’s not a coincidence,” Wyatt said flatly.
“No,” Cal agreed. “It’s not.”
