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Henry tracks my every move over the rim of his glass, his eyes locked on me with an intensity that makes my skin hum. His corded forearms flex, the muscles straining as he swirls the amber liquid around, his gaze never leaving mine. It’s a calculated move—slow, deliberate, like he’s savoring every inch of me as I do the same with him.

“And I’m desperate for you to come take it off with your fucking teeth,” he growls, fingers slow and deliberate as they trace the edge of that smug, sin-stained mustache—the same one I want grinding against me, soaked in everything I give him.

His words hang heavy between us—a dare, a promise, an ignition.

I lean across the bar, breath hitching as I close the distance, feeling the heat pulsing off him. My pulse thunders in my ears, and I don’t know what’s worse—the way my body betrays me, or the way his eyes darken, tracking every inch of me with wicked knowing.

Slow and deliberate, I dip my finger into his glass and drag it across his lips, feeling the warmth of him beneath my touch. His eyes narrow, dark and dangerous, but he doesn’t flinch—just watches, waiting for me to break the silence.

I bring my finger to my own mouth, sucking the bitter whiskey off, never once breaking our locked gaze. Every muscle in me screams to cross the line, but I hold back, the tension coiling tighter, electric.

“Keep fucking dreaming, Sheriff.”

The words come out like a dare, but the silence that follows is deafening. There’s no denying it now—neither of us is pretending this is just a game anymore. The air crackles with something too raw, too real. Neither of us is backing down.

He’s not backing down.

The man who has played by my rules for the last ten years was throwing out my rulebook and setting that bitch on fire.

That look on his face said one thing loud and clear—he was done. No more waiting on me to make the first move. No more sitting back, hoping I’d break. Henry wasn’t playing by my rules anymore. He wasn’t waiting for me to change my mind.

Fuck, if that didn’t terrify me.

Henry chuckles low, the sound rough and knowing, as he tosses back the last of his whiskey. His gaze never leaves mine as he says, “I don’t know how to do anything else, wildflower.”

Without another word, he pushes back off the stool. His presence lingers like a weight in the air—heavy, undeniable. No grand goodbye, just a quiet goodnight, loaded with everything he’d been holding back.

I watch those broad shoulders disappear into the crowd, telling myself the tremble in me has nothing to do with him.

Not a fucking thing.

Chapter Nine

WHEN A MAN LOVES A STUBBORN ASS WOMAN

HENRY

After leaving Bangers, I head home, the weight of my decision settling in. I know Lou will be more rigid than ever, more stubborn, and fuck, I am looking forward to that. She has always controlled the terms of our relationship—always kept me at arm’s length, always calling the shots.

Well, not anymore.

I am done following her lead, done being the one to chase after her on her terms. It is my turn now. Time to flip the script, rewrite the rules. This is going to be on my terms, and I’m not going to let her push me away anymore.

But then I think about that little move she made—dipping her finger in my whiskey before bringing it to my lips and then hers. The memory hits me like a shock to the chest, and something inside me snaps. She thinks she can keep me at arm’s length? Keep me chasing her? Fuck that. I can’t get that image of her finger dragging through the whiskey, then sucking it off her skin, out of my head.

All I wanted in that moment is to make her feel as desperate as she made me. To remind her just how fucking far she’s pushed me. I wanted to fuck her desperate little mouth until it memorized every vein, until they were imprinted in the back of her God damn throat.

I start showing up at the bar every night after that, making sure she can’t avoid me, even if she never says a word. I don’t need her to. I need her to feel me there, to know I’m not backing off. Lou might be able to shut me out, but she can’t erase my presence.

I know Lou loves me. The thing is, she’s been hurt too many times, lost too many people she cares about. And once Lou feels betrayed, once she feels vulnerable, she builds walls so high even I can’t get over them. But this time, I’m not going to let her push me away. She can keep running, keep hiding behind those walls, but I’m not going anywhere. And this time? I am about to demolish them all.

Something deep down tells me this is about a hell of a lot more than what happened the night of Murphy’s funeral. That is just the tip of it. If I want even a sliver of what this could be, I’ll have to break her down—strip past every layer of armor she’s welded to her damn skin. I am ready to pull every dirty trick I have, because that venom-tongued viper has her walls reinforced with barbed wire and gasoline, daring me to strike the match.

Lucky for me, I call this foreplay—because I live for the burn. Crave it. Want her fire wrapped around my throat until I can’t fucking breathe without it. I’ll let her scorch every inch of me, gladly go up in flames, if it means she looks at me like I am the only thing she wants to ruin.

Then Cece waltzes in my office door stomping out all anticipation I’ve had of the long-legged hellion.

I don’t even look up. “What is it now?”