Page 4

He shrugged. Regret flickered in his eyes, or perhaps the ache of a man left too long in the cold. It was gone in a blink, buried beneath steel and command, but it hit her like a punch to the gut all the same.

“You’re only waiting for an excuse or even a chance to disappear... again.”

Keira’s hands balled into fists. Finn’s jaw tightened, just a fraction—enough to betray the crack in his armor. “Maybe that's because every time I even think about letting you touch me, I forget how to breathe.”

He smiled, reaching up slowly, cupping her jaw with one broad, calloused hand. She hated that she leaned into it. Hated how much her body remembered him.

“That’s not fear,a stór.That’s instinct.”

“You don’t get to call me that anymore.”

His thumb stroked over her lower lip, and she shivered.

“I’ll stop when you stop trembling every time I touch you.”

“You’re an arrogant bastard.”

“You’re flushed, trembling... soaking wet. I can smell your heat, Keira.”

She slapped his hand away, heart pounding, furious at herself. “God, you’re....”

He growled low in his throat and seized her waist, dragging her hard against him in one commanding pull. Her breath hitched as her chest collided with his, hard muscle meeting softness in a perfect, dangerous fit. One of his hands fisted her hair, the other gripped her hip possessively, anchoring her in place.

Then he kissed her.

She didn’t even mean to kiss him back. But her mouth opened under his like it had never forgotten the taste. Her brain screamed to pull away, to remember every reason she’d walked away the first time. But the feel of him, the scent of him, the way his lips moved over hers like he still owned her—it melted her resistance like snow under flame. She hated that it felt like coming home.

His tongue stroked hers, coaxing a moan from her throat she couldn’t bite down in time.

He walked her back step by step, her breath quickening with every inch lost. She didn’t realize he’d cornered her until her spine met the wall with a soft thud, cool marble biting through her shirt.

His hands didn’t falter—they were already at her waist, then sliding upward, mapping familiar territory with devastating precision. He paused just long enough for her to catch the flicker of restraint in his eyes—like he was offering her one final out. Then he crushed her against him, his thigh wedging between hers, firm and deliberate. A jolt of heat rocketed through her, her breath catching as arousal twisted with panic.

She hated how her body responded—how her pulse raced, how her hands curled into the lapels of his jacket instead of pushing him away. Every instinct screamed at her to flee, yet every inch of her skin buzzed with need. She was drowning inthe memory of him, in the sheer force of his presence, and for one blinding second, she didn’t know whether she wanted to fight him or beg him not to stop. She felt his hands and strength everywhere—crowding her, claiming her space, his heat wrapping around her like a second skin. She arched into him like an alley cat in heat, as if she needed to be claimed.

And maybe she did, but not like this.

Keira gasped and shoved him back. “No. No, I am not doing this.”

Finn breathed raggedly, his eyes glowing faintly—something wild and unnatural sparking there, like a storm barely contained. His chest heaved with restrained power, muscles tight beneath her fingers, jaw clenched like he was wrestling back something barely human. He radiated dominance so intense it made her knees weaken, some primal part of her reacting to it before logic caught up.

The glow in his eyes wasn’t normal. It wasn’t human. And for one dizzying second, a shiver chased down her spine—not fear, not quite—but a deep, visceralknowing. She didn’t understand it. Didn’t want to. But the way he looked at her—like prey and possession, like worship and hunger—made her stomach flip. His voice, when it came, could’ve sounded like a promise or a command. Maybe both.

“I’m not yours anymore,” she said, voice shaking. "I never was." It sounded strong—defiant even. But inside, a voice whispered, she was lying. Not to him. To herself. Because part of her had always been his, and that was what scared her most.

He stared at her like he could see straight through every part of her.

“Liar.”

Her knees threatened to buckle. “This was a mistake.”

“You’re here,” he said again, quieter. “You’re home. And I won’t let you run this time.”

Keira wrenched herself out of his hold, her palms pressing hard against his chest as she pushed with more desperation than strength. It felt like tearing out a piece of herself. Every nerve screamed in protest, her body aching from the loss of his heat, his weight. Shame rose fast behind her ribs, clashing with a grief she refused to name. She wasn’t just pulling away from him—she was trying to claw back pieces of herself that had never stopped belonging to him.

He let her go, but not without dragging his gaze over her like a brand. Her legs felt weak, her skin flushed, but she forced one foot in front of the other, her boots echoing sharply across the marble as she stumbled toward the elevator. Each step was a rebellion against every cell in her body, screaming to turn around.

Her chest felt tight, breath shallow, as if she’d left part of herself back there with him. Her hands trembled at her sides, and her eyes stung with unshed tears—rage, confusion, arousal, grief, all tangled together. But she kept moving, because she had to. She needed space. Air. A second to remember who the hell she was without him—without that scent, that voice, that pull threatening to unravel her all over again.