Page 26 of Shattered Dreams
I step back. "We've had too much wine."
He nods once. "Yeah. Shit."
We both laugh awkwardly, tension softening.
"You're going to be okay, Ava. No matter what happens."
I nod, blinking fast. "Thanks for not being a total asshole about it."
He chuckles. "Yet."
We head back toward the house together, glancing at one another almost nervously.
It no longer feels like he's my best friend because something has shifted between us.
And I'm terrified to find out where it leads.
My head is a fucking mess. The pain of Roman's betrayal still rips the fickle scab from the deep wound he caused, but here beside me is someone who sees me; my gorgeous, caring best friend. Someone whose desire and love is written plainly across his face, making me feel visible again when I've felt like a ghost in my own life.
But if helovesme…I cannot mess with his head. Because I already know I can never feel the same.
I should stop this; say something,anything.I should walk away.
But I don't.
And that says everything.
The space between us suddenly shrinks to nothing as Kieron moves closer. The heat of his body is unfamiliar yet welcome. My breath catches in my throat. His eyes never leave mine—dark,intense, filled with years of unspoken desire. I can see the exact moment his restraint shatters, the precise second when he gives up trying to be the moral one.
"I've imagined this," he whispers, his voice rough with longing. "More times than I can count."
His hand slides up my arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. Every nerve ending in my body seems to awaken at once, hyper aware of his proximity, the scent of him—so different from Roman's, yet somehow just as intoxicating. When his fingers brush the nape of my neck, I shiver, not from cold but from his touch.
Something reckless unfurls inside me. A voice whispers that this is wrong—that I'm using him, that I'll regret it, that I'm still Roman's wife despite everything. But another voice, louder and more insistent, drowns it out: Roman chose someone else.Hebetrayedme. Why shouldn't I take comfort where I can?
I'm so tired of hurting.
And here is Kieron.
The one Roman was always jealous of. The one looking at me like I'm the only woman in the world.
The way Roman used to look at me. Almost.
His eyes darken as they flick to my lips, then back to my eyes. I can see the battle raging behind them—years of restraint versus this moment of possibility.
"Fuck it," he mutters, and my heart leaps.
His hands cup my face, and suddenly, his mouth is on mine. The kiss is desperate, hungry, years of pent-up longing unleashed from him in an instant. His lips move against mine with an urgency that steals my breath. I gasp, and he deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding against mine.
I should push him away.
Instead, my hands find his shirt, fisting in the fabric, pulling him closer. A moan escapes me, a sound I barely recognize—it’s raw, needy, and desperate.
His hands slide into my hair, angling my head back as his mouth travels down my neck. His teeth graze my skin, and I shudder against him, my body arching instinctively into his.
"Kieron," I gasp, his name half plea, half warning.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his breathing ragged, his eyes almost black with desire. "Tell me to stop," he says, voice rough. "If you want me to stop, tell me now."
