Page 100 of Your Place or Mine

But none of them felt like this.

Like I’d been walking around bone-deep numb, and she was the spark.

And maybe that was the most dangerous thing of all.

Because Lydia wasn’t temporary.

Even if I wanted her to be.

Even if she said she was just here to fix up a building and start over.

Because now I’d kissed her like she was mine.

And some part of me—some ancient, stubborn, primal part—was already plotting what it would take to make that true.

She pulled back again, with a shaky breath that hitched when my thumb brushed her jaw.

“We can’t do this,” she said, even as her hands stayed right where they were, clutching my shirt, as if she let go, she’d fall.

“Tell me to stop,” I said.

Her eyes flicked to my mouth.

“I can’t,” she whispered.

And that was it.

I kissed her again, one hand cupping the back of her head, the other anchoring at her waist. Her body molded to mine like it had been waiting to. Like every argument, glare, and stubborn, smart-mouthed back-and-forth had led us here.

To the bar.

The heat.

The inevitability ofthis.

But just as quickly, she pulled away.

“Callum,” she said, breathing hard, “we need to stop.”

“Okay,” I said, not even trying to sound convincing. “But just know, I’m not sorry.”

She blinked.

I shrugged, chest rising and falling with the effort ofnotpulling her back into me.

“I’m not sorry I kissed you,” I said. “I’m not sorry you came storming in here. And I’m not sorry you drive me up a damn wall.”

Her lips parted like she wanted to argue, but nothing came out.

“I don’t know what this is,” I added, softer now. “But you can’t walk in here throwing sparks and expect me not to catch fire.”

She stared at me for a long moment.

And then she stepped back.

Not far. Just enough to breathe again.

“Fine,” she said, voice shaking slightly. “But if we’re going to burn the place down, we do it my way.”

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