“I do,” I said. “I should leave.”
I didn’t move.
She turned like she was going to shove me—maybe slap me—but my hands were already on her hips, already pulling her in like my body had made the decision before my brain caught up.
“Are you going to hurt me?” I asked, my voice low.
Her breath hitched. “Are you really here? Defying your brother? Trying to protect me from Tristan Callahan? Aren’t you afraid of him?”
“Oh, yeah,” I said, my mouth inches from hers. “Terrified. I’m not an idiot. I know exactly what he’s capable of.”
Her fingers curled at her sides. “How many people has he hurt? How many has your family hurt?” Her voice was tight. “Isn’t it a net good for society if I let him take the fall? RICO charges are appropriate here.”
“You’re, uh… rico,” I said.
She blinked. Her mouth twitched, trying not to smile. “Wait—was that supposed to be Spanish?”
“I’ve been working on it,” I murmured, my thumb brushing just beneath the hem of her hoodie. Her skin was warm there. “Duolingo’s very proud. I get confetti and everything.”
“It’s rica,” she said, barely holding back a laugh. “And it means I’m rich, not hot.”
“Oh. Well—you’re both. And if you marry me, you’ll be even richer. And possibly hotter. I haven’t done the math.”
“You’re…proposing?”
“No,” I said. “Aspiring.”
She stared at me.
“Get out of my house, Kieran.”
She said it, but she didn’t back away.
I could see it in her hands. Still gripping the edge of the counter. Still not pushing me away.
“Say it again,” I whispered, leaning in. “Tell me to go.”
She didn’t. Her breath hitched instead.
“I hate you,” she said, but it came out like a confession, not a curse.
“I know,” I murmured, cupping her jaw. “But you still let me in.”
“I shouldn’t have.”
“You always do.”
I kissed her.
She didn’t kiss me back—not at first. But then her mouth opened, and it was like falling. Like drowning. She clutched the front of my shirt like she wanted to rip it off or crawl inside my skin. I lifted her onto the counter without breaking contact, without losing the rhythm we’d been chasing since the day we met.
Her legs wrapped around me. Her hands fisted in my hair. I kissed her like I needed her to remember what we were underneath the war. Underneath the bruises and mistakes and fallout.
“Tell me you hate me,” I said into her mouth. “Go ahead.”
“I hate you,” she said, and it didn’t sound like she meant it at all. She bit down on my lower lip, and then she was kissing me back desperately, her breath coming in short bursts when she pulled away from me.
“Tell me to stop.”
