A corner of his mouth twitched. “Noted.”
He stepped inside, the space shrinking instantly with his presence. Kane didn’t fidget or hover. He just occupied rooms. Grounded them.
His eyes tracked the mug on the counter. “You eat yet?”
“Coffee counts.”
“Not today.”
I lifted a brow. “Bossy.”
“Hungry people make bad decisions.”
My lips curved. “And here I thought dangerous men thrived on bad decisions.”
His gaze darkened slightly. “Some of us learned better.”
Silence stretched, charged and thick.
I leaned against the counter, crossing my arms. “You didn’t deny being dangerous.”
His eyes flicked to my mouth.
“Didn’t think you needed convincing.”
The heat between us spiked, sudden and electric.
I took a slow sip of coffee, watching him over the rim. Testing.
“You know,” I said casually, “you’re really bad at pretending you’re not attracted to me.”
His jaw tightened.
He didn’t answer.
Which was answer enough.
A pulse of boldness moved through me, surprising even myself. Maybe it was grief. Or Paris. Or the realization that life could end without warning.
Or maybe I was just tired of playing safe.
I set the mug down and stepped closer, stopping just inside his space.
Close enough to feel the heat of him.
Close enough that his focus sharpened immediately, attention narrowing to me and nothing else.
“You look at me,” I said quietly, “like you’re holding something back.”
His breath slowed.
“Ella.”
“Tell me I’m wrong.”
A muscle flexed in his jaw.
He didn’t move away.
