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I don’t bring strange men home.

I don’t have one-night stands.

Especially not with dangerous men who just wrecked three intruders like it was nothing.

But he’s standing so close now, and I notice the flecks of brown in his green eyes, the crinkles at the corners like worn leather. He’s older—maybe ten years older. I’ve never been with someone like him.

His thumb traces slow, hypnotic circles on my wrist, each one sending sparks up my arm.

“What happens now?” I ask, my voice barely above a breath.

He reaches up, brushes a strand of hair from my face.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” he says. “I’ll take care of it. And I’ll get your door fixed, too.”

Before I do something stupid, I think—running would’ve been the smart choice.

But when he reaches out, his fingers tracing the spot where the knife had been?—

I stay.

Fear should take over.

Instead, the heat of his touch consumes me.

I should have stopped it, turned away when his fingers skim my arm, tracing the bruises left behind by the men who tried to take me.

I should have pulled back when his hand slid up, cupping the side of my neck, his thumb brushing the rapid pulse at my throat.

But I didn’t.

Icouldn’t.

Because for the first time in forever, I feelsafe.

Not because the world isn’t dangerous.

Heis even more dangerous.

But I’m not afraid of him.

I’m afraid of how much Iwanthim.

His fingers linger on my cheek, and I lean into the touch without meaning to. We’re inches apart now. I can see the stubble on his jaw, a tiny scar near his temple, the way his pupils dilate as they lock onto my lips.

I can’t pretend anymore. He’s too close. Too dangerous. And I want to fall apart in his hands.

My lips part instinctively. The tension crackles between us. His chest heaves—he’s fighting not to lose it.

I don’t think. I just act. My hands grab the lapels of his jacket, pulling him toward me as I rise onto my tiptoes. Our lips crash, and the shock in his breath makes me want to take it deeper, darker.

For a second, he doesn’t move. Then he devours me.

One hand tangles in my hair, the other grips my lower back, pulling me into him until I feel every hard inch of his body pressed against mine.

His tongue slides against my lips in a silent command, and I open to him, greedy for more.

My fingers thread through his hair. He drags his mouth down my neck, and I shudder when his teeth sink into the curve of it. My body arches against his—instinctive, demanding.