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“Attraction’s never been the problem,” I say cool, grabbing my hairbrush like a weapon. He doesn’t look away, but I catch the twitch in his jaw, the flare of his nostrils. Holding onto that page like it’s his last lifeline.

“But we’re going to do the same thing we always pretend to do,” I say, brushing damp hair like I have all the time in the world.

He doesn’t flinch. “Yeah? What’s that, little viper?” His voice is low, slow, but I know it’s coiled tight—waiting.

I take a step toward his side of the bed, deliberate, slow. His throat moves—just a flicker, but I see it.

“Pretend the sight of you doesn’t drown the little panties I wear,” I murmur, closer now, “while you pretend the taste of me doesn’t haunt your tongue every time you see me.”

Flashes of us in what feels a lifetime ago slam through me, filthy and sharp.

Him pinning me against the porch railing, just outside the weak flicker of the porch light—like even God wasn’t meant to see this. One hand crushed over my mouth to keep me quiet while the other forced my legs apart. His tongue tore into me like a threat, like a promise, like he meant to ruin every part of me that wasn’t already his.

The way he’d watch me the whole fucking time. Eyes locked. Daring me to look away.

His fingers curl around the book. His jaw clenches so tight I almost hear his teeth grinding. But those wild hazel eyes—burning behind the lenses—don’t leave the page.

I lean in, my finger dragging teasingly along the edge of the book.

“Are you going to turn that page anytime today, Sheriff?” I whisper.

The book snaps shut like a gunshot.

His eyes slam into mine, breath gone for a second.

“The only thing I want to turn,” he growls, voice like smoke and steel, “is you—inside motherfucking out. I want you face-down, breathless, clawing at the sheets while I bury myself so deep you feel me in your God damn throat. Press my palm right here”—his hand ghosts over my lower belly, slow, deliberate—“and watch you fall the fuck apart.”

Then he catches my wrist—rough, reverent—and kisses my pulse point slow and hot. My knees nearly give out. His lips burn, but his eyes? They’re wildfire.

“Make no mistake, Lou,” he rasps against my skin, “this will happen again. And you better be ready…because it’s going to be a fucking reckoning. A violent reckoning.”

I jerk my arm free, pretending the fire in my chest isn’t from his touch. I march to my side of the bed, yanking the covers back harder than I need.

His laugh rumbles from the mattress—dark, indulgent.

“Come on! I thought we were having fun?”

I slide under the covers without looking, turning my back to the heat on the other side.

“Fuck you, Sheriff,” I mutter low, the ache hidden in the edge of my voice.

“Sweet dreams, wildflower,” he whispers after me.

Chapter Fifteen

A REAL BOY

HENRY

A week later

“I look stupid.”

“No, Pinocchio.” Lou smirks. “You look like a real boy.”

Arms crossed, I lean against the doorway and watch them go at it. Lou and Dallas, locked in their daily battle of wills, neither giving an inch. I used to think Lou was the most stubborn human on earth—then I met her mini-me. That kid came into the world ready to challenge her crown.

Hard to believe it’s already been a week. Between gathering paperwork for Rue, the home study, and trying to settle into this new rhythm, it feels like we haven’t taken a breath. We’ve carved out a routine—sort of. But that’s about to go to hell because Monday, Dallas starts school. He acts like it’s no big deal, but I see the nerves flickering beneath the surface. And Lou? She’s pretending not to be just as wound up, but I know better.