“Cole’s around here somewhere. He doesn’t really do parties.”
They say his name like it means nothing. Like he’s just another local ghost.
Michael leads me back into the sand as the music shifts—deeper now, slower. A low pulse that sinks into your chest and drags your hips into motion whether you want to move or not.
“Dance with me,” he says, already pulling me closer.
“I’m not really a dancer.”
“Dancing’s just like sex,” he murmurs, voice at my ear. “Find the rhythm. Let go.”
I know I should slow down.
I don’t.
I’m too warm, too dizzy. His hands are already at my waist, guiding me in slow circles. My body moves before I can argue with it.
And then—I see him.
Cole.
He’s just beyond the fire, his body pressed against a girl I’ve never seen. Her fingers tangle in his hair, her mouth finds the hollow of his throat. He’s got one hand locked around her waist, the other gliding over the curve of her back as they move in time with the beat. It’s intimate. Possessive. Addictive to watch.
Something tightens in my chest.
Because I want it to be me.
I want to be the one he’s pulling close like that, the one whose dress is riding up as he presses in harder, slower. I want his hands on my body. I want his mouth on my neck. I wantwhatever that girl is getting, and I want it so badly I almost forget how to breathe.
Michael spins me, pulling me closer.
When I turn back around—Cole is staring at me.
His expression is unreadable, but his eyes are locked on mine. Like he sees every thought I’m trying not to have. Like he knows.
Michael's hand slides down, trailing beneath the hem of my dress—and then, with a quick tug, he yanks my panties off.
My body jolts.
Before I can say anything, he stuffs them into his pocket and leans in.
“I’ll keep these,” he whispers, breath hot against my ear. “For later.”
The words make my skin crawl. My body tries to step back, but my limbs aren’t listening.
And then the air shifts.
Heat radiates to my left. I look up?—
—and see Cole.
His jaw is set, his eyes dark, but it’s the way he moves that catches me. Deliberate. Controlled. Like every step is holding back something he could unleash in a second if he wanted to.
He cuts through the crowd like it isn’t even there. Straight toward me.
Michael notices too late.
“Emily?” Cole’s voice is low, tight, quiet—but dangerous.
