“I hate,” I correct, brushing my thumb along her jaw, “that you make me want to lose control.”
Her breath stutters.
“Maybe,” she says softly, “you don’t always have to hold it.”
That might be the most dangerous thing anyone’s said to me in years.
Because she’s right.
I’ve built my life around holding it.
Holding the line, the temper, the men together.
Holding the past where it belongs.
And she’s standing in the middle of my bar, telling me to let go.
I shouldn’t.
I do.
I catch her jaw and kiss her again.
Her back hits the edge of the table, and papers slide to the floor, forgotten. My other hand moves to her hip, fingers spreading as if I need the proof of her there.
She makes a soft sound against my mouth that goes straight through me.
Her hands drag up my chest, fisting into my shirt, pulling me closer because she’s not done arguing; she’s just changed tactics.
I deepen the kiss, slower but harder. My mouth moves over hers with intention. Control threaded through heat. I bite lightly at her lower lip, and she inhales sharply, fingers tightening.
“You don’t back down,” I murmur against her mouth.
“You don’t either,” she breathes back.
Her hands slide up into my hair, and that’s it, that’s the fracture line.
I push in closer, caging her between me and the table, my body fitting against hers as if it’s been measuring the distance for weeks. The air between us is stifling with everything we haven’t said.
Finn.
Zane.
The gym.
The way she stood up.
The way she stayed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Aurora
My heart hammersso loudly I can hear it in my ears.
Dim amber light pools around us, the polished mahogany bar slick with sweat and spilled whiskey.
I know this is a bad idea.
