Kane just … let it be.
The barista set our drinks down. Croissants. Coffee. Simple.
He tore into the pastry with obvious hunger, eating like someone who didn’t always know where his next real meal came from.
I watched him before I could stop myself.
He noticed.
“You’re staring.”
“Sorry.”
“You don’t look sorry.”
I smiled into my coffee. “I’m not.”
His gaze sharpened, interest unmistakable now.
God, he was attractive.
Masculine in a way that felt primitive. Something my body recognized on instinct.
I thought about Hank again.
Dinner reservations. Weekend plans. Predictable sex scheduled around work stress and exhaustion.
Sex that was … fine.
Sex that never once made me lose control.
And sitting here across from Kane, I realized something uncomfortable and freeing all at once.
I wanted to lose control.
With him.
The thought hit so cleanly that heat pooled low in my stomach.
He shifted in his seat, eyes narrowing slightly.
“You’re thinking something dangerous.”
“Maybe.”
“About me?”
I held his gaze.
Before answering, hesitation flickered through me—old habits tugging at my instincts. I’d spent years being careful, measured, never letting attraction show too plainly. Wanting someone this quickly felt reckless. Embarrassing, even.
But the truth was already written all over my body. In the way my pulse sped every time he looked at me. In the heat pooling low whenever his shoulder brushed mine. In the undeniable awareness of how handsome he was, especially up close—the rough edge of his jaw, the faint bruise darkening beneath his eye, the quiet power in the way he moved.
I wanted him. Badly. With a clarity that startled me.
And pretending otherwise suddenly felt pointless.
“Yes.”
