Page 34 of Sizzling Desire

He doesn’t just get in my head; helivesthere, burrowing deeper every time I tell myself to stay away, and I hate that. Hate that he can make me laugh when I’m determined to stay annoyed. Hate that one look from him can make my pulse race. Hate that I can’t stop thinking about how it felt to stand next to him tonight, the air between us humming like a live wire.

Hate that I want more of it.

I set the glass down harder than necessary, the sharp clink breaking the silence. “Get it together, Grace,” I mutter. “He’s just a guy. An obnoxious, arrogant, infuriating guy.”

But the words feel hollow, even to me. Because Kane isn’t just anything. He’s everything I shouldn’t want but do, and it’s terrifying. The way he looked at me tonight, like he was daring me to let my guard down, to step into the fire just to see if we’d burn—god, it’s addictive.

I flop onto the couch, my head falling back against the cushions. My phone is on the coffee table, lighting up briefly with a notification I don’t bother checking. My thoughts are too tangled, too loud. The memory of him walking me to my car plays on a loop in my mind—the way he stood so close, theway his voice softened when he said goodnight, like he didn’t want to leave any more than I did.

I run a hand through my hair, frustration building in my chest. This isn’t me. I don’t get caught up in messy emotions or whirlwind attractions. I keep things simple, safe. But Kane? He’s the opposite of safe. He’s the kind of man who could break every rule I’ve ever made for myself and leave me questioning if the rules were ever worth it in the first place.

My eyes drift to my phone again, and my stomach twists. The secret I’ve been carrying presses against me, heavy and unrelenting. He doesn’t know. How could he? I’ve made sure of that. But every time I think about telling him, my resolve crumbles.

What would he even say if I told him? Would he care? Would he be furious? Would he walk away?

The thought makes my chest ache in a way I don’t want to name. Because the truth is, I don’t know if I want him to walk away. And that’s the scariest part of all.

I pick up the phone, my fingers hovering over his name in my contacts. It would be so easy—just a text, just a few words to change everything. To bring this secret out into the open and see where the pieces fall.

But I can’t do it. Not tonight. Not when I still don’t know what the hell I want from him—or from myself.

With a frustrated sigh, I set the phone back down, my decision leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. For now, the secret stays mine.

Chapter 11

Kane

Ishould leave. Get in my truck, drive home, and put as much space between me and Grace as humanly possible.

But I don’t.

Instead, I turn around and walk right back into Hooplas because I’m an idiot. Because I like to push boundaries. Because every time I get near her, I get this sick kind of thrill watching her try—and fail—to ignore whatever the hell is between us.

The bar is still packed, the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses filling the space, but my focus narrows the second I step inside. My jaw is tight, my muscles coiled like I just walked out of a fight, and in a way, I did. A fight I lost, because Grace is still in my goddamn head, and I can’t shake her.

I stalk toward the bar, signaling for another drink I don’t need, my thoughts tangled in the way she can walk away from me, chin high, back straight, all fucking grace and confidence. She always looks like she has the upper hand, even when I know she’s seconds from throwing something at me.

I should hate it.

I don’t.

She’s a fucking knockout, and she doesn’t even try. Every move, every glance, every sharp, biting word out of her mouth is laced with something that keeps me coming back for more. She’s not soft, not easy, but that’s what makes her impossible to ignore.

The bartender slides my drink over, and I toss back a sip, rolling my shoulders as if I can shake off this restless energy riding me hard.

I shouldn’t be thinking about the way her dress hugged her curves tonight. Or the way her hair slipped loose from that too-perfect knot on the nape of her neck, a few dark strands teasing against her throat, making my fingers itch to brush them aside.

Shouldn’t be thinking about the way she looked up at me when I leaned in just a little too close. How her breath hitched—so quick, so quiet, like she didn’t want me to notice. But I did. Fuck, I always do.

And then there’s the way she looked when I told her she was going to find love. Real love. The kind that lasts.

The way she flinched.

Like I’d peeled back something raw, something buried so deep even she didn’t know it was there.

And then she walked away.

I let her go.

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