Now she stood in front of me, every word she’d said forcing something brittle inside me to break.
My hands curled useless at my sides. “You should go,” I said finally. It came out raw. “Before this gets worse.”
She shook her head once. “Too late for that.”
She stood there, shoulders squared, eyes lit with that furious steadiness that always gutted me. I should’ve turned away. Should’ve grabbed my coat, walked straight into the night, let the distance do the work I couldn’t.
Instead, I looked at her.
Her mouth parted just slightly, breath matching mine, and something in my chest cracked wide. I shouldn’t want her. I shouldn’t even be standing this close. The things I’d done—the blood, the history, the goddamn last name between us—should’ve driven her out of me clean.
But it didn’t.
It never did.
All the reasons crashed together in my head—Nate, the team, my job, the line I swore I’d hold. They dissolved as fast as they came. What was left was heat. The need to erase the look in her eyes that said she was done being afraid of me.
My body moved before my brain caught up. One step, two. The space between us disappeared like it owed me something. Her breath hitched. My hand shot out, fingers curling into the fabric at her sleeve.
And then I lunged—reckless, stupid, unstoppable—the kind of motion that always ends in contact, no matter how deep the consequences cut.
And I kissed her.
Chapter 19
Billie
His mouth found mine before I could breathe—hard, desperate, no hesitation. The taste of him came back instant and familiar, mint and something darker underneath. His hand slid from my sleeve to my jaw, tilting my face up as he backed me into the wall.
The concrete hit cold through my shirt. I gasped against his mouth and he swallowed the sound, kissing me like he'd been starving for weeks. Maybe he had been. Maybe we both were.
My hands fisted in his jacket, pulling him closer even though every rational thought screamed to push him away. This was wrong—so many kinds of wrong—but his body pressed against mine felt like the only honest thing in the room.
"We can't," I whispered between kisses, my voice breaking.
"I know." His forehead dropped to mine, breath ragged. Then he kissed me again anyway, harder this time, like he could erase the words we'd just said.
His fingers tangled in my hair, tugging just enough to make my spine arch. I heard myself make a sound—something raw and needy—and felt his grip tighten in response. The wall keptme upright because my legs had stopped working, every nerve ending focused on the places where his body met mine.
He kissed down my jaw to my throat, teeth grazing skin, and I forgot how to think. Forgot about Nate, about consequences, about everything except the way Calder's hands felt sliding under the hem of my shirt, rough palms against bare skin.
"Tell me to stop," he growled against my collarbone.
I should have. God, I should have. But my fingers were already in his hair, pulling him back to my mouth, answering without words.
He groaned—low and broken—and the sound vibrated through me. His hands mapped my waist, my ribs, everywhere he could reach, like he was memorizing me through touch. Like he thought this might be the last time.
The thought made something twist painfully in my chest, but then his mouth was on mine again and I stopped thinking altogether. There was only heat and hunger and the terrifying certainty that no matter how many times we tried to walk away, we'd always end up right back here.
Burning.
His hands roamed my body like he was claiming territory—possessive, hungry, leaving heat everywhere they touched. My shirt rode up, and he gripped my bare waist hard enough to bruise, fingers digging in like he needed proof I was real.
"Calder—"
He yanked at my waistband, pulled me up in one motion. My legs wrapped around him on instinct, locking at his hips as he pressed me harder into the wall. The shift put him exactly where I needed him and stars exploded behind my eyes.
"Fuck," he growled against my throat, voice wrecked. "I fucking—you—I've wanted you for too fucking long."
