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I shove him, but he barely moves. His feet are planted firmly on the ground, almost as if he expected resistance.

“God.”

My hands stay on his chest. He’s breathing as rapidly as I am, and just like last night, the close proximity is making my stomach back flip.

“Spare me. You’re the one who nearly got me killed. You want me dead, you just can’t admit it.”

He flinches, his eyes never moving from me, as if I’m the only thing that matters to him. “That was before…”

He swallows hard, and I do the same, my mouth running dry as my hands slowly move down the swell of his chest muscle. His heart is racing. His pupils are dilating. All the telltale signs of attraction.

How is that possible? I look ridiculous, and I’ve done nothing but insult him since he saved my life.

My lips part, and his eyes slowly move to them as if drawn.

I slide my hands up his chest again, rest my sweaty palms on his broad shoulders. “Before what?” I whisper.

His nostrils flare. “Before I understood that this is all an act for you.”

If this were any other time, any other situation, I would have laughed in his face, but when his fingers lace into mine and he draws me in closer, laughing is the furthest thing from my mind.

His hand releases one of mine, and he slides it down to the small of my back, almost as if he’s leading me on the dance floor. I place my hand around his neck and shiver when he slow blinks as if enjoying the contact. As if we’re thinking the same thing, he starts to sway, and my body responds without conscious thought.

After all I did to him, after his brazen plea to find me on the news, this makes as much sense as his dumping the eggs in the sink and then pretending he hadn’t done it for me.

Slowly, as if he’s got all the time in the world, he leans in, closer, so close it’s impossible to misread his intentions. I lean in to meet him, lift my chin so my lips are an open invitation, and let him bridge the final gap between us.

Mick

Okay.Okay.

This isn’t going to plan.

This is going so far off the plan, it doesn’t evenresemblethe plan.

Whatever grudge I held toward her seems to be chiseled away under a tumult of emotions that I can’t put into logical order. Every time I get a glimpse of who she could have been, the more my desire to protect her seems to swell.

But this? This doesn’t have anything to do with my protective instincts.

I’m aching to touch her. To press my lips against hers, to kiss the tender skin of her neck and see if she responds the way I think she will.

Her cheeks are flushed, her fingertips drawing slow, maddening circles on my skin. She licks her lips—nervous, maybe—but her gaze doesn’t drop. It holds mine like a dare.

A low sound escapes me—raw and involuntary—and she rewards me with the kind of shy smile that could bring a man to his knees.

Before I can stop myself, my mouth finds hers.

The first brush of contact steals my breath. Her lips are warm, tentative, then bold—like she’s spent a lifetime pretending she didn’t want this and can’t fake it anymore. Her fingers tangle in the hair at the back of my neck, and I slide my hands to her waist, anchoring her to me as if I could keep her from vanishing.

She leans in, answering every movement with one of her own, deepening the kiss with a hunger that knocks the sense clean out of me.

She tastes like risk and promise. Like something I was never meant to touch—but can’t let go of now.

Then—metal scrapes.

The unmistakable sound of a key turning in the front door punches through the haze, and I tear my mouth from hers, breath ragged, heart thundering.

I wrench myself away from her, spin around, and try to find my way back from a hormone-soaked fog as the front door opens and Caleb steps inside.