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He tore himself away, breath ragged.

“What’s wrong?” Taly asked.

Everything.

But what came out was: “Nothing.”

She tried to tug him back in.

“It’s getting cold,” he murmured, though cold had nothing to do with it. If anything, the night air felt good against his skin—he was burning, restless, desperate to tear away every layer between them. “We should go back inside.”

“I’m not cold.” She pressed closer, her warmth bleeding into him, her scent dizzying.

He went still. If she knew how little blood was reaching his brain right now, she wouldn’t be testing him like this.

She waited for him to move. To respond.

He didn’t.

Her hands loosened around his neck. “… Skye?”

Her voice was quieter now, something unreadable curling at the edges.

He swallowed hard. Speech required thinking, and thinking required circulation. “Look, I’m just… I’m trying not to be an asshole, and you’re not making it easy.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s… hard to explain.”

“Try.”

He met her gaze, willing her to understand. To drop it. “It’s just—things are complicated right now, and I need to—”

“Need to what?” Her voice sharpened.

Shit.

Abort. Backtrack. Try again.

“Taly, I didn’t mean—”

“No,” she cut in, pulling away. “No, I get it. It’s not me, it’s you, right? You need time tosort things out.”

She exhaled, refusing to meet his gaze as she shifted, intending to move away from him.

It was what he needed—space to think, to breathe.

It felt like hell.

And that look—like she thought he didn’t want her. Like she couldn’t feel it in his hands, his mouth, all of him. He hated that look.

His hand caught her jaw, pulling her back. His mouth found hers.

Just a kiss. Just this.

He could take that much—pretend it was enough.

For a moment, it was.