Page 19

NINETEEN

Blaze

The hurt flashing across Ember’s face haunts me. Each minute of strained silence chips away at my resolve. She perches at the far end of the sofa, making herself small, and something in my chest cracks at the sight.

The fierce woman who faced down armed kidnappers without flinching now withdraws into herself because of my ‘noble’ intentions.

“What do you like to watch?” The question hangs in the air as she tucks herself into the corner like she’s trying to disappear.

“Whatever.” Her gaze remains fixed on her hands folded in her lap.

The space between us pulses with unspoken words and lingering heat. Every tiny movement draws my attention—the slight tremor in her jaw, how she worries her bottom lip, how she tries to make herself invisible. My body gravitates toward her despite my best efforts to maintain distance.

She shifts position, clearly trying to get comfortable without encroaching on my space. Her foot accidentally brushes my thigh as she stretches, and she yanks it back as if she’s been burned.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, the word barely audible, laced with embarrassment and lingering pain from my earlier rejection. Her cheeks flush pink as she tries to make herself even smaller.

Before she can withdraw, I catch her ankle.

“Don’t apologize.” My voice comes out low and rough.

I pull her foot into my lap, my thumbs working gentle circles into her arch. Her breath catches, her body freezing in surprise at the contact.

Every muscle in her body goes rigid, uncertainty flashing across her face. Her fingers clutch the sofa cushion, knuckles white with tension. The trust between us hangs by a thread, fragile and wavering.

My thumbs press deeper, finding the knots of tension in her arch. A small gasp escapes her lips, somewhere between pleasure and pain. Her toes curl reflexively as I hit a particularly sensitive spot.

Slowly, achingly so, tension begins to ease from her body. Her death grip on the cushion loosens. Her shoulders drop from their defensive hunch. Each stroke of my fingers melts away another layer of her guard.

A soft sigh slips past her defenses, and the sound sends electricity dancing through my veins. Her head tips back against the sofa, eyes fluttering closed. The sight of her surrendering to my touch, trusting me despite my earlier rejection, makes my chest tight.

“That feels amazing,” she whispers, the words carrying a hint of wonder. The last traces of hurt fade from her expression, replaced by something warmer, more dangerous. Her foot flexes in my grasp, pressing into my touch.

My hands move higher, working the tension from her calf. Another sigh escapes her, deeper this time, and the sound stirs something primal in my chest—each reaction, every shift of her body, chips away at my resolve.

Her skin feels like silk beneath my fingers. The lean muscle of her calf tenses and relaxes with each stroke. I shouldn’t notice these details—shouldn’t catalog every gasp and every flutter of her eyelashes, but I’m hyperaware of every response, every subtle sign that she’s affected by my touch.

Tension builds in my body. Arousal stirring where it shouldn’t.

The air between us grows thick with unspoken possibilities. This isn’t a foot rub anymore—it’s crossing into territory I swore to avoid.

The intimacy of the moment suddenly seems to hit her. Her body tenses, and that earlier uncertainty creeps back in. Static electricity crackles between us, the air coming alive with the heat building between us. Her pulse jumps at her throat, a visible reminder of how this affects her.

She pulls her legs from my grasp, tucking them beneath her. The loss of contact leaves my hands burning and empty. We’re balanced on a knife’s edge—one wrong move, and everything changes.

“I should probably get some sleep.” Her voice comes out shaky as she smooths down her shirt—my shirt—avoiding my gaze. “It’s been a long day.” The words sound hollow, as if she’s trying to convince herself.

Time stretches between us, taut as a bowstring. Every breath draws us closer to a point of no return. The professional boundaries I tried to maintain dissolve with each passing second.

“Is that what you want? To sleep?” The words come out rougher than intended, heavy with everything left unsaid. The real question burns beneath. “Are we going to pretend this isn’t happening?”

“You said…” Her teeth catch her bottom lip, uncertainty warring with desire. When her eyes finally meet mine, they’re dark with want and something deeper—a challenge. “You said no.”

“I’m an idiot.”

“What happened to protecting me from yourself?”

The question hangs between us, heavy with implications. I meet her gaze, finding my desire reflected there.

“Whatever.” She stretches, arms reaching overhead. My shirt rides up, revealing a strip of pale skin at her waist. “I’m tired anyway, and it’s probably a bad idea.”

“You don’t look like you’re tired.”

Seeing her in my shirt ignites something possessive deep in my chest. A growl builds, rough and primal. Each innocent movement, the casual grace of her stretching, the way the shirt clings to her curves—chips away at my control.

It’s pure torture.

Suddenly, the room feels too small and too hot.

“I don’t have to be tired to know staying here is the wrong thing to do.” Her eyes meet mine, and the challenge there makes my blood roar.

Gone is the hurt from earlier, replaced by something darker, more dangerous. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and the small movement snaps the last thread of my restraint.

My blood roars in my ears as I take in her expression—all that fire, that defiance mixed with raw vulnerability—the last threads of my control fray and snap.

“Maybe I’m tired of good intentions.” My voice comes out rough, raw with honesty. “Maybe I’m tired of pretending I don’t want you.”

Color floods her cheeks, but her chin lifts with that stubborn defiance that’s driven me crazy since day one. She doesn’t back down, doesn’t look away. Her pulse jumps visibly at her throat, betraying how my words affect her.

“Are you?” Her voice carries a hint of vulnerability beneath the challenge, reminding me of my earlier rejection.

I close the distance between us, giving her time to retreat. The air crackles with electricity, and every molecule is charged with anticipation.

She stands her ground, chin lifting in that stubborn way that drives me crazy. Her breath catches, her chest rising with a sharp intake of air.

Suddenly, we’re sharing the same breath, the same space.

My hand cups her cheek, thumb tracing the curve of her jaw. Her eyes flutter closed at the contact, and a soft sigh escapes her lips. The trust in that simple gesture undoes me completely.

“Ember.” Her name comes out like a prayer, rough with need. “Look at me.”

“What?” When her eyes open, they’re dark with want, pupils blown wide. All that fire and defiance mixed with raw vulnerability calls to something deep inside me. Something I’ve tried desperately to keep caged.

“Have you changed your mind?” My voice drops low and challenging, and my words come out rough and hungry.

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, the slight movement drawing my gaze.

“No.” Her eyes darken, pupils dilating. The single word carries a wealth of meaning.

“Well, I have.” I close the remaining space between us. “Last chance to walk away.” The words scrape my throat, even as my body screams in protest at offering her an escape.

Her fingers curl into my shirt, anchoring me close. “I don’t want to walk away.” Her voice trembles slightly. “I want you to stop fighting this. Stop fighting us.”

The admission breaks something loose in my chest. My forehead presses against hers, our breath mingling in the scant space between us. Her warmth seeps into me, melting away the last of my resistance.

“I’m done fighting.” The words come out on an exhale, a surrender and a promise wrapped in three simple words.

My hands find her waist, pulling her against me. The small gasp that escapes her lips turns into a soft moan as my mouth claims hers.

Gone is any pretense of restraint.

When our lips meet this time, there’s nothing tentative about it. This kiss is different—deeper, hungrier, but also something more. All the walls come crashing down. Every reason why we shouldn’t, every professional boundary, every careful distance—none of it matters anymore. There’s just her—her taste, her scent, and the way she melts into me like she belongs there.

Her body melds against mine like she was made to fit there, soft curves pressing against hard planes. My hands tangle in her hair, angling her head to deepen the kiss.

A small whimper escapes her throat, the sound shooting straight through me. Her fingers clutch my shoulders, nails digging in through the fabric. Each point of contact burns, sparking something primal and possessive.

Breaking the kiss, I trail my lips down her neck. Her pulse races beneath my mouth, proof of how this affects her. When my teeth graze her sensitive skin, she arches into me with a gasp that nearly shatters my control.

“Blaze.” My name falls from her lips like a plea, and suddenly, keeping any distance between us feels impossible.

“I’ve got you.” The words rumble against her skin as I carry her toward the bedroom. “I’ve got you, and I’m not letting go.”

Lifting her is effortless—she weighs nothing in my arms. Her legs wrap around my waist instinctively, bringing us flush together. The new position aligns us perfectly, drawing a groan from deep in my chest.