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We’re already burning. And this time, I’m not sure either of us would survive the blaze.

Chapter twenty-eight

Liam

She’squiet.Tooquiet.

Which is fucked, because five minutes ago she was shaking like she’d been hit with a live wire—and I was the one holding the switch.

But instead of curling into me or flashing that sharp little smirk— She stiffens.

Not her body. Her energy.

Like someone threw a bucket of ice water over the moment.

I catch the glow of her phone screen out the corner of my eye. A name. A message. Her whole face goes white.

“Kat?”

She doesn’t answer right away. Just grips the phone like it might shatter in her hand.

Then, finally— “He knows.”

Those two words land like a puck to the teeth. Sharp. Fast. Impossible to take back.

Her brother.

Fuck.

Now we’re not just toeing the line. We’re skating full-speed into a goddamn warzone.

By the time we pull up to her place, we’re both pretending nothing’s changed. Pretending the fuse isn’t already lit and burning fast.

She’s all soft edges and silence as I help her out of the car. But I can still taste her on my tongue. Still feel her legs shaking. Still see the look on her face when her brother’s name popped up.

I want to ask what the hell she’s going to do. Whatwe’regoing to do.

But I don’t.

Because this isn’t the time—and even if it was, I don’t think I could handle the answer.

The house is small. Cozy. Smells like her—vanilla and something else sweet.

She disappears down the hall, and I stand there like an idiot in a borrowed suit, wondering if I just stepped into something I can’t walk out of.

When she comes back, she’s in a T-shirt and shorts. No makeup. No armor. And fuck me—she looks better than she did all dressed up. “Dam, you look good!” She smirks with that look, begging for me to devour her.

“I know my brother must’ve left something in the spare room,” she says, nodding toward the hall. “They’ll probably fit.”

I nod and head toward the bathroom, not giving a fuck if they’re Griffins or the damn mail man. All I can think about is dipping into Katarina’s hot, wet sweetness.

I strip out of the suit like it’s choking me, tossing it over the edge of the sink. I find the drawer she mentioned—pull on a pair of gray sweatpants. and shuck the boxers, letting my cock hang free, still half-hard from the memory of her body. No shirt. No pretense.

When I walk back into the room, she’s sitting on the edge of the bed, legs tucked up under her, watching me with those stormy gray eyes.

Eyes that hold a soft ache. Like she’s asking me to stay—without having to ask.

I flick off the main light, leaving just the lamp on the nightstand, gold-warm and low.