I clench my fists at my sides, trying to keep my emotions in check. It’s a losing battle. I’m too aware of him—the way hismuscles flex beneath his shirt, the intensity in his eyes when he looks at me. I hate that I can’t stop thinking about him, but more than that, I hate how much I want him. The war inside me rages on, and I don’t know how much longer I can keep fighting it.
Pope sets down his tools with a clatter, the sudden sound startling me. He turns to face me, his eyes burning with frustration, and I know the moment has come. “Ruby,” he says, his voice low and edged with impatience. “Are we going to keep pretending everything’s fine, or are you finally going to talk to me about what’s really going on?”
I stiffen, my defenses snapping into place. This is what I’ve been dreading. I don’t want to have this conversation, don’t want to admit how scared I am of letting him in. But Pope isn’t giving me a choice. “What do you want me to say, Pope?” I snap, my voice sharper than I intend. “That everything’s fine? Because it’s not. You’re pushing too hard.”
He takes a step toward me, his eyes flashing with something deeper, something raw. “Yeah, I’m pushing because I’m tired of this back-and-forth with you. I’m not your ex, Ruby. I’m not going to hurt you like he did, but you keep treating me like I’m the enemy. What the hell are you so afraid of?”
His words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I feel my control slipping. He’s right—I am scared. But admitting that feels impossible. The fear of getting hurt again claws at me, and before I can stop myself, the words spill out. “You don’t get it, Pope. You’re just like him! You’re intense, possessive, always trying to protect me, but that’s exactly how it started with him.”
The moment the words leave my mouth, I regret them. The hurt that flashes in Pope’s eyes is unmistakable, and it makes my stomach churn with guilt. I didn’t mean it—not entirely—but the fear clouded my judgment, and now it’s too late to take it back. I take a step back, my hands trembling as I watch his reaction, my heart aching with the weight of what I’ve just said.
Pope goes still, his body rigid with tension. For a long moment, he just stares at me, his jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, and the silence stretches between us, thick and unbearable. When he finally speaks, his voice is rough, strained. “You think I’m like him?” He takes a slow, measured breath, the hurt in his eyes replaced by something darker. “After everything we’ve been through?”
The tension between us crackles like a live wire, the anger and frustration transforming into something else—something hotter, more dangerous. I don’t answer his question, but I don’t have to. The silence between us is thick with unspoken emotion, and I can feel the air shift around us. Pope takes another step toward me, his eyes dark and intense, his voice dropping to a low, seductive rumble. “You don’t really believe that, Ruby. You’re just scared.”
My breath catches in my throat, my body reacting to the shift in his tone. I should back away, should keep my guard up, but the pull between us is too strong. My heart pounds in my chest as Pope steps closer, the heat of his body so close to mine it makes me dizzy. I look up at him, and the raw hunger in his eyes sends a jolt of desire straight through me.
Pope’s voice is a low growl as he reaches out, his hand cupping my jaw, his thumb brushing over my lips. “You don’t have to be scared of me,” he whispers, his breath hot against my skin. “I’m not him. I would never hurt you.”
My knees go weak, my pulse racing as his words sink in. I’m trembling, torn between the fear of getting hurt again and the overwhelming desire I’ve been trying so hard to suppress. I know I should push him away, that giving in would be dangerous, but the way he’s looking at me, the way his touch ignites something inside me—it’s impossible to resist.
Before I can stop myself, I close the distance between us, my lips crashing against his. It’s not gentle—it’s desperate, filled with all the frustration and longing that’s been building between us for weeks. Pope responds immediately, his hands tangling in my hair, pulling me closer, as if he’s been waiting for this moment as long as I have.
The kiss is intense, raw, our mouths moving together with a hunger that’s been simmering beneath the surface for far too long. My hands grip his shirt, pulling him closer, needing to feel the solidness of him against me. His hands move down my body, rough and urgent, as if he’s trying to memorize every inch of me.
The world around us fades away, the half-built library forgotten as we lose ourselves in each other. The scent of sawdust fills the air, mixing with the heat of our desire. Pope presses me up against one of the wooden beams, his lips trailing down my neck, his hands sliding under my shirt, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.
But as the passion between us begins to ebb, my mind races, my heart still pounding in my chest. The physical connection between us was undeniable, but the emotional distance still lingers. I pull back slightly, my breathing heavy, my fingers still tangled in Pope’s shirt. I don’t know what to say, how to reconcile the intensity of what just happened with the fear still gnawing at me.
Pope looks down at me, his eyes filled with something deeper—something I’m not ready to face. My heart aches, but the walls I’ve built around myself are still there, still keeping me from fully letting him in. I step back, putting distance between us, my voice barely above a whisper as I say, “I can’t… not yet.”
Pope watches me, his expression torn between frustration and understanding. He doesn’t push, but I can feel the weight of his unspoken words. The tension between us remains, thick andunresolved, as we stand there in the half-built library, sawdust swirling around us, the heat of our desire lingering in the air.
Chapter Eight
Pope
The half-finished beams of the library cast long shadows across the site as I move about, trying to focus on the work in front of me. My hands are steady, muscle memory guiding me through each swing of the hammer, but my mind—hell, my mind keeps drifting back to Ruby. Last night keeps playing in a loop, and I can’t get the feel of her out of my head. The way she kissed me, like she’d been holding back for so long, and the way she melted into me, like I was the one thing she could rely on. I thought… I thought we’d crossed a line, broken through something real.
But now she’s pulling away. Again. And it’s eating me alive.
From across the site, I catch a glimpse of her. Ruby’s organizing her notes, pretending to be focused on the design, but I can tell she’s avoiding me. The fire I’ve grown used to—the one that usually lights her eyes when we argue about every damn detail of this project—it’s dulled. Her shoulders are tense, and she’s moving like she’s trying to disappear. What the hell?
Frustration tightens in my chest. I don’t get it. Did I misread everything? Was last night just a mistake to her? I thought… I thought it was something more. But now, she’s actinglike nothing happened, like we didn’t share something raw, something that meant more than just… heat.
I grit my teeth and set my hammer down, wiping my hands on my jeans as I make my way over to her. I can’t keep doing this. This back-and-forth, push-and-pull—it’s driving me insane. Ruby’s got walls up, I know that, but damn it, I thought I was starting to break through. Now, she’s building them even higher.
She’s standing by one of the unfinished walls, her back to me, her head bent over those damn notes. I know she feels me coming—her body tenses, her fingers tightening around the edge of her notebook. I stop a few feet away, my voice gruff but softer than I intend. “Ruby.”
She doesn’t turn around, and that only makes my frustration spike. “We need to talk,” I say, the words rough in my throat.
Ruby finally turns, but the look in her eyes hits me like a punch to the gut. She’s pulling back, retreating into herself, and I have no idea why. “There’s nothing to talk about,” she says, her voice calm but distant. Too calm.
I take a step closer, my brows knitting together in frustration. “Don’t do that. Don’t shut me out like this.” My voice drops lower, too close to something that feels vulnerable, and I hate it. I’m not used to being this exposed, but damn it, I need to know where her head’s at. “Last night… that wasn’t nothing, Ruby. You know that.”
Her eyes flick away from mine, and she bites her lip, like she’s holding something back. “It was just… it was a mistake,” she says, but I can hear the tremor in her voice. She doesn’t believe her own words. “We can’t do this, Pope. You’re just—” She cuts herself off, shaking her head like she’s trying to find the right words. “You’re too much like him.”
The second those words leave her mouth, it’s like the ground’s been yanked out from under me. “Like him.” Her ex. Her abusive, manipulative ex. Those words slice through me,and I take a step back, my chest tightening. “You really think I’m like that asshole?” My voice is rougher now, disbelief mixing with anger. I can’t even wrap my head around it—the idea that she sees me as anything close to the man who hurt her. The man who messed her up so bad she can’t trust anyone.
