Page 31 of Sizzling Desire

Maybe he was right. Maybe they all were.

I sigh, dragging a hand through my hair, the knot of tension in my chest tightening with every thought as I push down a wave of nausea. It’s not that I don’t want love. I do. I want the kind of love that’s real and unshakable, the kind that makes you feel like you’re home no matter where you are. But every time I get close, I can’t help but pull back, like I’m afraid of what it’ll cost me if it all falls apart.

And it always falls apart.

I close my eyes, the image of Kane at the marina flashing behind my lids. He’d stood so close, his voice low and rough, his hand brushing against mine like it was the most natural thing in the world. He’d made me feel like I wasn’t alone in my doubts, like he understood the weight of it all.

But that’s just Kane, isn’t it? Always saying the right thing, always knowing how to get to me. I should’ve brushed him off, should’ve walked away like I always do. Instead, I stayed. I let him see too much.

And now, I can’t stop wondering what he sees when he looks at me.

Does he see the woman who has it all together, the one I work so hard to present to the world? Or does he see the cracks beneath the surface, the fears I try to bury under layers of sarcasm and deflection?

I shake my head, frustration bubbling up inside me. It doesn’t matter what Kane sees. It doesn’t matter that he makes me feel things I haven’t felt in years. Because at the end of the day, he’s Kane. The man who thrives on chaos, who knows exactly how to push my buttons. He’s not the kind of man you build a future with; the kind you have a family with.

But then why does the thought of him walking away feel like a punch to the gut?

I grab the glass of juice again, taking a long sip as I stare out the window. The moon hangs low over the water, its reflection shimmering on the waves. It’s a beautiful night; the kind that should make me feel at peace.

Instead, I feel restless. Torn between the part of me that wants to believe Kane’s words and the part of me that knows better.

“Maybe some people just aren’t meant to find it,” I’d said. And I’d meant it.

But tonight, for the first time in a long time, I wonder if maybe I’m wrong.

Chapter 10

Grace

My phone buzzes, the screen lighting up with a text from Kate. I’m halfway through folding laundry, a podcast droning in the background that I’m not even listening to. The moment I see her name, I know it’s not good.

Kate: Hey, just a heads-up—you forgot to check on the groomsmen's tux fittings. Kane mentioned it when I saw him earlier.

Damn it.

I groan, dropping the shirt I’m holding onto the couch. Of course, Kane would mention it. He probably did it with that smug grin, relishing the chance to call me out. Never mind that I’ve been drowning in work and trying to keep my own life together. No, Kane thrives on pointing out my screw-ups. It’s like oxygen to him.

With a muttered curse, I grab my phone and scroll to his contact. I hesitate for half a second before hitting call. The rational part of me knows texting would be easier—safer—but the other part? The part that’s still simmering from our last encounter? That part wants to hear his voiceso I can tell him exactly where he can shove his tuxedo fittings.

He picks up after two rings, his voice smooth and irritatingly amused. “Grace. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

I roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised I can still see straight. “Don’t flatter yourself, Kane. Kate said you brought up the tux fittings. What’s going on with them?”

There’s a beat of silence, then his low chuckle filters through the line. “Ah, so you’re calling because you forgot about them. Not because you missed me.”

“Don’t push it,” I snap, pacing across my living room. “Just tell me what the issue is so I can fix it.”

“Issue?” he drawls, his tone dripping with mock innocence. “I didn’t say there was an issue. I just mentioned to Kate that you hadn’t checked in yet. You know, to be helpful.”

“You’re so full of it,” I mutter, biting back a smile. “You’re about as helpful as a flat tire.”

“Harsh, Gracie,” he says, his voice low and teasing. “I thought we were past that.”

“Past what?” I ask, stopping mid-step. “The part where you annoy me every chance you get?”

He laughs, and damn it if the sound doesn’t send a shiver down my spine. “Admit it—you’d be bored without me.”

“Hardly,” I say, but my tone lacks bite. I hate how easy it is to slip into this rhythm with him, like sparring partners who know exactly how to push each other’s buttons.

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