I lift my chin. “Sounds perfect.”
“No.” He closes the last step. His body heat rolls over me, his lips inches from mine. “Deep down, you don’t want Mr. Perfect. You want the man who makes you burn.”
His voice is rough velvet, and it drags a shiver straight down my spine.
“I’ve been giving you space,” he continues, breath brushing my neck. “I’ve been patient as hell, respecting the ten goddamn years since I last had you in my arms. But watching you smile at him tonight—” A muscle jumps in his jaw. “It fucking gutted me.”
I should move. Tell him to stop. But I’m frozen, my core tightening at the raw honesty in his voice.
“I can’t be him, Lyla.” His hands settle lightly on my forearms—warm, steady, burning through my skin. “I can’t promise easy. I can’t promise comfortable. But I can promise you everything else—every dark, intense, consuming thing we used to be. And more.”
“You left once,” I whisper, hating how broken it sounds. “Why should I believe you won’t again?”
His thumbs stroke once, slow and deliberate. “I hated every second of it. I’ve spent years trying to get back to a place where I could stand in front of you without dragging danger behind me. Things are different now. And I’d rather die than walk away again.”
The words land like stones in still water. Stark. Honest. Dangerous.
Tears sting my eyes. This version of Scott—restrained, lethal, stripped raw—is much more dangerous than the boy I fell for.
His hands, his body, his mouth— They’re right there. I can see the silver flecks in his eyes, smell the cedar-and-musk scent that’s purely him. For one fractured second, my mind flashes to white walls and the echo of a heartbeat…things he doesn’t know I lost. Things I swore I’d never let him near again.
He lifts one hand, thumb tracing my bottom lip with agonizing slowness. “I’m not going to stand by and watch you settle because you think it feels safe.”
“I don’t care what you do,” I manage, but it comes out too thin, too breathless.
A ghost of a smile touches his mouth—there and gone in half a second. “Yes, you do.”
For one heartbeat, I think he’s going to kiss me. Every muscle in my body coils tight, waiting.
Then he steps back—slow, deliberate—leaving cold air and roaring silence in his wake.
My lungs release a shaky breath.
“It’s late.” His voice is calm again, command wrapped in velvet. “Get ready for bed.”
He turns toward the balcony doors, giving me his back—broad, tense, every line screaming the same restraint I’m fighting not to break.
I stand there, pulse thundering, skin too tight, body still screaming for the fire he just walked away from.
Chapter Ten
Day Four
* * *
Lyla
* * *
“You look like you got hit by a truck,” Emily says, sliding onto the stool beside me at the breakfast bar. Steam curls from her coffee mug.
“Thanks. Exactly the vibe I was going for,” I deadpan.
“I’m serious.” She nudges my shoulder. “You’ve been staring at that toast like it owes you money. Talk to me.”
Where do I even start?
The villa buzzes around us—laughter, clinking plates, gossip about today’s challenge. Everyone else is already neck-deep in their drama. I’m still replaying last night. Damon’s respectful questions, his steady gaze, the complete absence of chaos. Nice. Safe. And Scott’s voice in the dark afterward, low and ruthless, promising I’d ache for him when I was alone. And our argument last night had me awake all night.
