Page 21 of The Break Down

And I don’t do halfway. Not with a woman like her.

Because Finley isn’t a fling.

She’s not some quick release to take the edge off.

She’s everything I never knew I always wanted.

Attitude and curves and clever fire wrapped in a body built to drive a man wild.

And if I have her?

If I take even one sip from her supple lips?

I’ll want to keep her.

I’ll want to own every inch of her.

Body, mind, soul.

But I don’t know how a woman like Finley would react to that kind of hunger.

That kind of claim.

Growing up Maori and Pakeha—that’s what we call people of European descent back home—I had one foot in each world.

Two cultures. Two bloodlines.

Two sets of expectations, beliefs, and traditions braided together inside me like rope.

Tight, complex, impossible to untangle.

From one side came the fire of ancestral ties so deep they echo in my bones.

From the other, a sense of structure and silence. A pressure to fit cleanly into a box that never really fit.

I was raised with stories of warriors and land, of mana andwairua—spirit.

I was taught to feel deeply, to honor instinct, to fight for what’s yours with your whole fucking soul.

And now?

Now I’ve got this woman threatening to upset my entire balance.

I know without a doubt if I touch her it will change my life.

Finley. Fuck. Why now?

This brilliant, sharp-mouthed, stubborn-as-hell woman challenges everything I thought I could ignore.

She walks through life like no one can touch her.

Like she’s already done the work of loving herself and dares the world to catch up.

She’s loud, unfiltered, fierce in her joy, and fuck, it makes me feel like I’m vibrating from the inside out.

But I don’t think she understands what she’s doing to me.

How deep this thing runs.

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