Page 6 of Ava After Midnight (Chaos and Chemistry #2)

Chapter Six

DOMINGO

T hunder rumbles in the distance—a warning, advising against our hedonistic plans—as I watch Ava move through the Airbnb, her fingers grazing the walls with the same grace and lightness they traced my skin earlier. There’s something hypnotic about the way she moves. She’s unhurried, confident enough to take up space, beautiful enough to own the moment.

Her phone buzzes again; it’s Matthew’s twentieth call in an hour. She doesn’t flinch anymore, just lets it ring, its vibration nothing more than static in the space between us. But I see the name flashing on the screen: Matthew Reynolds in bold, clinical letters, no heart, no nickname—just a name. No warmth, no affection. The default contact photo glares back at me, an old corporate headshot, stiff and lifeless. The kind of man who doesn’t get his hands dirty, who thinks control is the same as love. Something about it pisses me off more than it should.

“There’s a whole wing we haven’t explored,” she calls over her shoulder as she walks, disappearing down the dim hallway.

I follow because I can’t not follow. She’s gravity, and I’m falling—fast, reckless, knowing the impact will shatter us both.

“Holy shit.” Her voice, filled with reverence, pulls me into the room. “Domingo, you need to see this.”

The door opens to heaven—or hell, depending on how strong my self-control is. Beyond it, there’s a professional dance studio, complete with mirrored walls and floating hardwood floor. The kind of space I used to live in before my knee betrayed me.

Before my body made the choice I wasn’t brave enough to.

The sight of the room sends a sharp pang through my chest. I can still feel the phantom ache in my knee, the way it buckled at the worst possible moment, the snap that silenced my future in the span of a breath. I haven’t stepped foot in a space like this in years. The last time I did, I was a different man—one who thought he was invincible. One who thought passion alone could outrun fate.

Ava’s moving to the center, framed by the storm outside, her expression unreadable.

“Dance with me.”

Her voice is soft, nothing like my commands for her attention earlier in the night, but it’s not a question.

I hesitate. Not because I don’t want to—but because I do.

The walls seem to shrink around me. The storm outside is pressing in, the air heavy with rain and something unspoken. The floor beneath me feels both familiar and foreign, an old lover I abandoned before it could abandon me. My fingers flex at my sides, aching to hold her, guide her, claim her.

I reach for my pocket, thumbing the phone I took earlier without thinking. I’d watched her leave it on the counter, distracted by the studio, and slid it into my pocket on instinct. A habit, a safeguard—like I already knew we’d need to be unreachable tonight.

“ Mi cielo …”

But my feet are already moving, pulled by a force stronger than reason. My breath tightens in my chest, old instincts clashing with raw need. My fingers twitch before they finally settle on her waist, hesitant at first. She’s warm under my touch, solid, real. I exhale sharply, grounding myself in that simple truth.

Her phone cuts through the moment. Zoe. Her name flashes like an omen.

Without thinking, I swipe to answer.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, already knowing.

“Matthew’s tracking Ava’s location.”

Ice spreads through my veins.

“Tell me you haven’t left the Airbnb.”

“We’re here.” I watch Ava spin lazy pirouettes in the studio mirrors. Lightning flashes in the mirrors and windows as I do. “But?—”

“He’s coming.” The words hit as thunder crashes outside, shaking the mirrors that line the walls slightly. “Says he can’t spend the night without her. Storm’s pushing him to drive up early.”

Lightning rips across the sky, white-hot and dangerous. In the mirror’s reflection, Ava looks untouchable. Untamed. Worth every storm heading our way.

“How long?” I ask, calculating escape routes, alternatives, anything to protect this fragile sliver of freedom we’ve found.

“Thirty minutes, maybe less.” Papers shuffle on her end. “Jade’s trying to slow him down, but?—”

A crack of thunder explodes overhead, vibrating through the floorboards. The mirrors tremble slightly, reflecting a dozen fractured versions of us in the dim studio. The air goes thick, static clinging to my skin like a warning.

“Keep him away as long as you can,” I say, then end the call.

“Power’s out.” Ava’s voice is closer now, a little breathless. “Must be the storm.”

Lightning flashes, bright enough to illuminate her silhouette—bare shoulders, wild curls, looking at me like I’m salvation and sin wrapped in one package.

“Matthew’s coming.” The words taste bitter. “Tracking your phone.”

She laughs—sharp, humorless. “Of course he is. Heaven forbid I have one night that he hasn’t planned out for me.”

Another flash of lightning, another glimpse of her drawing closer. “We could leave. I know places?—”

“No.” Her hand finds my chest in the dark. “I’m done running from what I want.”

A warning surges up from my chest. A plea. A surrender. “Ava…”

“Show me.” Her other hand joins the first as she takes in my look of confusion, sliding up to my shoulders. Then lower. Just enough to set my nerves alight. “Show me what it feels like when the music’s just for us. No audience, no expectations. Just this.”

I should stop this. Should be the voice of reason. Should?—

Lightning illuminates her face, and all my hesitation burns away at the raw need in her eyes.

“But we shouldn’t…” I try, the last thread of my sanity unraveling. “He’s coming?—”

She pulls her phone from her pocket, thumb hovering over the screen for a moment before she kills the power completely. The clatter as it hits the floor echoes like breaking chains.

Thunder punctuates her phone’s death like nature’s endorsement. I can barely see her in the dark, but I feel her—heat and hunger radiating between us. The scent of rain sneaks through a cracked window, fresh and electric. I don’t trust myself to move.

“Your turn,” she whispers.

I don’t hesitate.

My phone joins hers.

We’re truly cut off from the world.

Lightning strobes through the skylights as I back her against the mirror. “Last chance to be good, princesa .”

“I don’t want to be good.” Her hands find my chest, my shirt bunching as she grabs at the material, trying to anchor herself. “I want to be real.”

The words land deep. So deep I don’t know if she fully realizes what she means. But my body does. My restraint snaps like a breaking wave.

Rain lashes the windows as I cage her in, one hand braced beside her head, the other gripping her hip. “Let me show you what ‘real’ feels like.”

I find her mouth in the dark, but this isn’t the desperate kiss from earlier. This is slow, devastating, a promise of everything I want to do to her. She melts into me with a sound that shatters what little restraint I have left.