We stay right there. Breathing. Sweating. Burned alive and completely undone.
Eventually, he leans back, hand dragging from my throat to my jaw, thumb swiping over my swollen lips.
“Still think I’m hiding?” he murmurs.
I should say yes. But I don’t.
I pull him back in, kiss him hard, desperate, wanting more, because the truth is, I don’t want clarity.
I want him. Again. And again. And again.
Chapter 42
Candace
Ireplaythelasthour in my head on a loop. The way Malachi looks at me. The sound of his voice when he saidI love taking care of you.It lands with absolute certainty. A truth spoken plainly. No one ever has, and he doesn’t mind being the first. Maybe that’s why it hits harder than it should. Because no one ever has.
I know it started as a distraction. His way to derail me before I asked too many questions. I came to the garage looking for intel. Intel about whether the guys are planning their own revenge in this ridiculous prank war we’ve kicked off. But he doesn’t give me anything. Not a single answer.
Instead, he gives me his hands. His mouth. His body. I don’t mind. Not even a little.
Now I’m behind the bar, still wearing his hoodie, still flushed from everything he’s done to me, and all I can think about ishow badly I want to return the favor. How much I want him trembling. Desperate. Begging.
“Someone’s got a glow.”
I jump, nearly knocking over a glass. Frankie leans across the bar, clearly having watched me spiral in silence for the last ten minutes. Behind her, Ruby, Darla, and Sloane file in, each one carrying iced coffees and matching expressions of suspicion.
The bar smells faintly of lemon cleaner, espresso, and the lingering traces of last night’s whiskey and smoke. Outside, the heat presses against the windows, trying to get in. But in here, the air is thick with something else. Curiosity. Mischief. That low, electric buzz right before someone drops a secret.
“Jesus,” I mutter, tossing the towel aside. “You move like hyenas.”
“We are hyenas,” Ruby says brightly. “Sexy, deadly hyenas on a mission.”
Sloane hops onto a stool. “We want intel.”
Darla gives me a knowing look. “Don’t play dumb, Firecracker.”
I sigh. “About what?”
Frankie narrows her eyes. “About the boys. The revenge plot. Don’t pretend you haven’t been embedded behind enemy lines.”
My stomach flips, but not because of them. Because I can feel him. Malachi. He’s standing by the doorway to the hallway that leads toward the back rooms, half in shadow, arms crossed, shoulder leaned against the frame, taking his time watching me squirm.
He’s watching. Eyes on me, steady and unreadable. No smirk. No judgment. Just… there. Solid. Present. Quiet in the way that makes your skin hum.
My pulse skitters. The back of my neck flushes, heat rising beneath my collar under the weight of his gaze. The world narrows until it’s just the low thrum of music playing from thespeakers and the gravity of him holding me in place. A tether I didn’t know I needed.
I try not to look. Try to act normal. I meant to ask him if the boys are planning a retaliation, but he touches me and I forget everything else.
“I got… distracted,” I say, trying to keep my voice even.
There’s a beat of silence. Then chaos.
Frankie bursts out laughing. Ruby squeals like she’s just won a game show. Sloane gasps and nearly drops her drink. Darla just grins and covers her mouth, clearly holding in something dangerous.
“YOU DID NOT—” Ruby shrieks.
“I didn’t say anything!”
