Page 28 of Babies for the Big Shot

“You didn’t have to.”

The room is too quiet again. His gaze drops to my mouth and lingers.

“I don’t want to argue with you,” he says finally, his voice rough around the edges.

“Then stop giving me reasons to.”

The words come out harsher than I mean. Louder. Clearly, they’ve been sitting on my tongue all day, waiting for a moment to detonate.

His jaw tenses. Just slightly. But it’s enough.

And then he steps forward.

Too close.

Not touching me, but close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him in waves. Close enough that I can count the flecks of gold in his eyes. Close enough that I forget what we’re fighting about… hell, that we were even fighting at all.

“This is a bad idea,” I whisper.

He nods. “I know.”

My back hits the door. I hadn’t even realized I’d moved. Or maybe he moved. Maybe gravity just tilted in his direction and I never stood a chance.

His hand lifts and brushes my hip. His fingers graze the fabric of my dress. A question already answered.

I don’t flinch.

I don’t move.

Ishould.

But my body’s gone traitor. Frozen, trembling, tuned entirely to the space between us. Every nerve ending stretched tight, waiting.Wanting.

He’s so close I feel the heat of his breath on my cheek. His pulse thunders in my ears—or maybe it’s mine, a warning I’ll never heed.

His eyes lock on mine. They drop tantalizingly slowly to my mouth.

And just like that, the air turns combustible. The tension snaps, wrapping us in barbed wire, waiting to draw blood.

My breath hitches. His hand brushes my hip, just the faintest graze, and I swear I see his restraint fracture right in front of me.

One beat.

Two.

And then we detonate.

Our mouths crash together, raw and urgent, as if kissing is the only language left between us. It’s a collision, firestorm, an explosive“fuck it”spoken through lips, teeth, and restless hands.

His fingers dig into my waist, dragging me flush against him with desperate hunger. My hands clutch his shirt, pulling, anchoring, craving more, deeper, right now.

He groans into the kiss, low and guttural, and it reverberates through every inch of me. My back presses hard against something, maybe the wall, maybe the spinning world, and Istop caring about anything except his mouth, his hands, the way he’s kissing me as if I’m the only thing keeping him alive.

There’s nothing soft here. Nothing slow. Just weeks of want breaking loose in a single, blistering moment that neither of us survives intact.

By the time we break apart, we’re wrecked.

Breathing hard.