“But you won’t.”
“No.”
My pulse picks up again. Just like it always does when we’re like this—close. Too close. I press the new gauze into place and tape it down. My fingers brush his skin again, slower this time. Not by accident either. Holt’s breath shifts and mine swiftly follows.
His hand lifts. This time, he doesn’t hesitate. His fingers wrap lightly around my wrist, thumb moving slightly. Enough to send a sharp ping through me that I feel everywhere.
“You’re not leaving,” he says.
It’s not a question.
“No.”
“Then stop pretending you want to.”
I swallow because I don’t, and that’s the unavoidable truth. A part I can’t ignore anymore.
My free hand finds Holt’s hip as he stands slowly. Forcing me to stand and step back just enough that we’re level again. Face-to-face. No table. No barrier. Nothing between us now.
“You keep saying this is temporary,” he says.
“It is.”
“Then why does it feel like you’re already holding on?”
My breath catches.
“I’m not,” I say.
“You are.”
“I’m not.”
“Lark.”
My name in his mouth does something I don’t want to examine. I shake my head and try to step back. But Holt doesn’t let me.
His hand slides from my wrist to my waist. Dangerous and grounding in a way I shouldn’t need.
“You were scared,” he says.
“I was surprised.”
“You were scared.”
“I said—”
“You said the truth.”
The room narrows as the moment tightens. And this time, I don’t fight it.
I close the distance this time. Not him. Me.
My mouth finds his, and there’s no hesitation. No testing. No pretending this is anything other than what it is. He respondsimmediately, like he’s been waiting for me to make the first move.
The kiss deepens fast. Heat. Pressure. Need.
His hands pull me closer, one at my waist, the other bracing at my back, and I feel it everywhere—the shift in his body, the way his breath breaks against mine, the way everything between us stops pretending to be controlled.
