“Then you’ll learn them.” His voice drops lower, almost a whisper. “But something tells me you’re already very good at learning what men expect.”
The words hit harder than they should. They’re not cruel, but they are devastatingly accurate. I’ve spent my life reading men like him, anticipating every move before they made it. It’s what made me successful. It’s also what got me destroyed.
And yet, somehow, I can’t readhim.
“You think you have me figured out?” I whisper.
His gaze drags over my masked face, slow and deliberate, like he’s memorising the map of a territory he’s already decided to conquer. “Not yet. But I will. Now you just need to let go.”
Let go. Like it’s easy to release the fear and anger and resentment that took root inside me when my boss threw me to the wolves. All the years of working my ass off to climb a ladder made for men. The harassment, the belittling, the constant degradation because I’m awoman.
Could it all be as simple asletting go? Could acting on instinct instead of facts and logic really be what I need right now? Should I even be considering handing the weight of it all to him, and trust he can carry it safely?
Let go.
The air leaves my lungs in a rush. I don’t mean to move closer; it just happens. A breath, a heartbeat, and suddenly there’s no space left between us.
His hand comes up, fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from my cheek. The touch is light, almost reverent. It shouldn’t feel like this. It shouldn’t feel comforting, and somehow electric.
“This is a mistake,” I murmur, as my pulse hammers below my jaw.
“Probably,” he says, his mouth hovering inches from mine. “But I don’t care.”
And then he kisses me.
It’s not gentle. It’s a collision of power and surrender, of two people who don’t know if they’re allies or enemies yet. Only that something bigger than reason is pulling them under.
For a moment, I forget everything. The scandal. The fear. The fact that heboughtme. There’s only heat and hunger and the terrifying truth that I want him to kiss me again and again and not stop.
When he finally pulls back, I’m breathless, dizzy and furious at myself.
He looks at me like he’s trying to decide whether to walk away or do it again.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” I say, though my voice doesn’t sound like mine.
“No,” he agrees, eyes dark. “But neither should you have.”
The words hang there, dangerous and true. But most frightening of all, I don’t feel powerless anymore. I feelalive.
Liam
I should be relieved that she’s regained her voice, that the defiance is back. Instead, it’s the sound of it, soft, trembling, still caught in the aftershock of the kiss, that undoes me.
I can still taste her. Sweetness edged in panic. The kind of taste that clings, refuses to fade.
She stands in front of me, chest rising and falling, mask still in place. The black ribbon at its edge has slipped loose; I reach up without thinking and catch it between my fingers, tightening it again before it falls. The brush of my knuckles against her skin sparks something reckless.
I shouldn’t touch her again. I know that. But restraint has always been a choice, and right now I don’t feel inclined to make it.
My hand lingers at the side of her throat, thumb resting just below her jaw. Her pulse kicks against it, fast and strong. She doesn’t move away. She’s watching me the way people watch wild animals: waiting to see if they’ll bare their teeth.
“This is what happens when you play with powerful men, Grace,” I say quietly. “You forget which of you is holding the match.”
Her breath stutters. Mine does too, though I hide it better. I tilt her chin up with a single finger, forcing her to meet my gaze. The need that rolls through me isn’t clean. It’s hunger threadedwith possession, protectiveness, something darker that feels too much likewant.
“I should walk away from you,” I tell her, meaning every word. “But I don’t think I can.”
“Then don’t.” The words slip out before she can stop them.
