Page 45 of Sizzling Desire

I cup her face, forcing her to meet my gaze. “It’s not a debate, Grace. Someone set this fire. Someone who’s already torched a bunch of other places. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

She exhales slowly, searching my face like she’s trying to find a reason to fight me on this. But I see it in her eyes. She’s shaken. Exhausted. Scared.

I slide my thumb over her cheek, my voice gentler now. “Let me do this.”

A beat passes. Then another.

Finally, she nods. “Okay.” The word is barely above a whisper, but it hits me like a damn sledgehammer.

And as I lead her away from the wreckage, I make a silent vow.

Whoever did this? Whoever thought they could take her from me?

They’re going to regret ever lighting that match.

I commandeered Chance’s truck. The drive to my place is quiet. Too quiet.

Grace sits curled into the passenger seat, staring out the window, her arms wrapped around her body like she’s trying to hold herself together. The glow from the passing streetlights cast fleeting shadows across her face, highlighting the exhaustionin her features. She doesn’t cry. Doesn’t speak. And that silence is killing me.

I grip the wheel tighter, my jaw clenching as I force myself to focus on the road. My hands are still sore from gripping the door handle too hard on the way to the fire. I haven’t been able to shake the image of the flames devouring her building, the thick smoke in the air, the moment of sheer terror when I thought she might be inside.

She wasn’t, but that doesn’t erase the fact that someone torched her home. Someone wanted her life, anyone’s life, to go up in flames.

And that means she’s staying with me. No arguments. No debate.

We pull up to my house, the headlights sweeping across the darkened porch. It’s a solid, two-story brick home set on the outskirts of town, far enough from the city noise but not so remote that we’d be isolated. It’s been my space for years. My place to come home to after long shifts, my escape from the chaos of my job.

Tonight, it’s her safe haven.

I cut the engine and glance over at her. “We’re here.”

She nods but doesn’t move to get out.

I exhale, unbuckling and stepping out first. The chilly night air bites at my skin, but I barely feel it. Rounding the truck, I open her door, waiting. It takes her a second, but she finally looks up at me, her green eyes wary and exhausted.

I hold out a hand. “Come on, Grace.”

She hesitates, then places her hand in mine. That simple touch sends a rush of something through me, something fierce and right, but I don’t focus on it. Instead, I keep hold of her as I lead her inside.

I flick on the lights, the warm glow spilling over the hardwood floors and the open living room. It’s nothing fancy, just dark leather furniture, a massive TV mounted abovethe fireplace, and the kind of space that’s meant for living, not just existing.

Grace barely glances around.

I squeeze her hand before letting go. “Come on, I’ll show you where you can crash.”

She follows me up the stairs, her movements slow, like every step is an effort. I open the door to the spare bedroom—one of two guest rooms. This one is comfortable but unused, with neutral tones, a queen-sized bed, a dresser, and an attached bathroom.

“This is yours for as long as you need it,” I tell her. “Bathroom’s through there, extra towels are in the cabinet, and some of my old clothes are in the dresser. If you need anything—” I pause, my voice lowering. “Just knock on my door. I’ll hear you.”

She nods but doesn’t look at me. “Thanks, Kane.” Her voice is quiet, too quiet.

I hate this. I hate seeing her like this. The Grace I know is sharp, fiery, always ready to challenge me with that wicked mouth of hers. This version? The one standing in front of me looking lost? Looking defeated? It guts me.

She turns toward the bathroom, and I force myself to leave, pulling the door halfway closed behind me.

Downstairs, I grab a beer from the fridge but barely drink it. My mind won’t stop replaying the night—the flames, the moment I saw her in the ambulance, the way she looked at me when I pulled her against me. Like I was the only thing keeping her from crumbling.

I text Hudson to let him know she’s safe and to let Kate know. For tonight, Grace needs to rest, to recenter herself.

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