Page 62 of Spotlight Hearts

She’s crying now. I can hear it in the way her breath hitches.

“You’re an asshole,” she whispers. “You’re going to regret this. He’s going to break your heart because it’s not real for him, and you’re going to come crawling back, and I won’t be there.”

“Maybe,” I say. “But I have to try. I’m sorry, Whitney. I really am.”

She hangs up without another word.

The line goes dead.

I stand there for a long moment, staring at the dark ocean, the phone heavy in my hand.

The guilt is thick in my chest—not because I cheated (we were already over), but because I let it drag on too long. Because I hurt her. Because I wasn’t brave enough to end it cleanly months ago.

I exhale a rough breath and set the phone face-down on the railing. Then I push the sliding door fully open and step inside.

Kai is standing just outside the bathroom doorway, towel slung low around his hips, hair still damp and dripping onto his shoulders. Water droplets trace slow paths down his chest. He must have come out right at the end—close enough to hear Whitney’s last bitter words.

His eyes are guarded. Hesitant. But underneath that, there’s something else—a flash of jealousy that tightens his jaw and makes his fingers curl at his sides.

I walk toward him unrushed. “Hey.”

He doesn’t move. “You were talking to Whitney.”

It’s not a question.

“Yeah.” I stop a few feet away. “I needed to make it clear we’re done. For real. Even if you and I weren’t…whatever we are.”

Kai’s jaw tightens further. His gaze drops to the floor for a second, then lifts again. The jealousy is still there—quiet, simmering, not explosive, but unmistakable in the way his eyes narrow slightly and his shoulders tense.

“What are we?”

The question lands heavy between us. I can see the insecurity flickering behind the jealousy—the fear that I’m still torn, that Whitney still has a piece of me.

I hate that I put that look on his face.

Before I can answer, Kai moves. He closes the distance in two steps, grabs the front of my shirt, and kisses me.

It’s desperate. Possessive. His mouth crashes into mine like he’s trying to erase every word Whitney said, like he’s claiming me right here in the middle of the villa. His fingers twist tighter in my shirt, pulling me flush against him as his tongue slides against mine—hot, demanding, hungry.

I groan into the kiss, hands automatically finding his waist. He walks me backward until my back hits the cool glass wall. The towel around his hips slips lower but doesn’t fall. I can feel him—already half-hard, pressing against my thigh through the thin fabric.

He breaks the kiss just enough to speak against my mouth, voice rough and edged with that jealous heat.

“I don’t want to share you.”

The words hit me hard—raw, honest, a little feral. His hand slides down between us, palming me through my shorts, squeezing just enough to make my hips jerk forward.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, biting my bottom lip. “Not hers. Not anyone else’s.”

Fuck. Kai, when he loses control, is like a fucking drug hitting my system. I’m instantly hard, throbbing under his touch. I grab his hips and pull him closer, grinding against his hand as I kiss him back just as fiercely.

But even through the heat, I remember the paps.

I break the kiss, breathing hard, forehead pressed to his.

“Kai… the photographers. They’re still out there. They could see us through the glass.”

He doesn’t pull away. His eyes are dark, lips swollen, cheeks flushed. The jealousy is still there, but it’s mixed with something hotter now.