That same hat. The black Stetson I picked out for him the Christmas before I left. He kept it. And I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.
He takes a step inside, closes the door behind him, and doesn't say a word.
He's bigger than when I last saw him. He was always a beast. Even in high school, he towered over the other guys. But years of riding bulls and working a ranch have turned him into something else entirely. He's every woman's walking wet dream.
He clears his throat. I can't tear my gaze from him, yet I can’t bring myself to look in his eyes. He leans against a pillar, arms crossed, and doesn't look directly at me.
I'm suddenly aware of the rope around my wrists. The way I must look, tied to a chair, hair falling out of its clip. This is not how I pictured seeing him again. In my head, I was always ready. Put together. Strong. I'd say something perfect that explained everything.
Instead, I'm tied up in his cousin's barn, and I can't remember how to form sentences.
He drags his teeth across his bottom lip. And then he looks up.
Our eyes meet, and it's a lightning bolt through my chest.
Every memory that I buried claws to the surface. His hands on my skin, his mouth on my neck, his voice in my ear sayingGoldiethe way other people say prayers.
Not a single word leaves his lips. He just takes me in. His eyes track over me, my face, my shoulders, my hands behind the chair, my legs. And I do the same to him. He's got more tattoos now on his arms, designs I don't recognize, stories I wasn't there for.
Then I spot it on his right bicep. A harp. Delicate, detailed, the strings running the length of the instrument in fine black lines. I have to fight back the tears so hard my throat aches,because he always promised to get that exact tattoo. I told him name tattoos were a silly idea, so he said,fine, I’ll get a harp for Harper.
I clear my throat, trying to regain some composure.
"You know, if you wanted to see me, you didn't have to have me kidnapped, Ace."
It comes out as a whisper.
He nods. Pushes off the pillar and walks toward me.
I feel sick. My stomach flips. I knew it would. I knew my heart would race. I guess I thought I'd still do the same for him—that I'd see the fire behind his eyes, that spark he used to save just for me.
But his face is guarded. A wall I've never seen on Ace Sterling.
We're not who we were six years ago. I hurt this man. I rejected every attempt he made. Maybe he's had enough. Maybe he took one look at me and thought,why the fuck am I even bothering?
I drop my gaze to the floor. I did this to myself.
He stops in front of me. Heat radiates from his gigantic frame. I can smell him, something my body recognizes the way it recognizes its own heartbeat.
Without a word, he reaches behind the chair and unties the rope. His fingers brush my skin, and the contact sends a shock through me so hard I have to clench my jaw to keep from making a sound.
I bring my arms forward and shake them out. I don't stand up yet; I don't trust my legs.
"Ace. Are you okay?"
He steps back just a touch, and I look up at him. This close, I can really see him. That jawline, sharper now. Those dark eyes with the tiny flecks of green that I used to stare into for hours, trying to count them.
"I'm good, Harps. I'm good."
His deep voice cuts right through me. Through every wall I've built. Through six years of distance and discipline and pretending I'm over him.
I’m not. And I need to leave. Because if I stare at his lips for one more second, I might kiss him.
If he told me to run, I would. And this was the problem. Why I couldn’t come home and let him near me. Because all it takes is one more look and I’d be done for.
And I can’t risk that now. I’m “engaged” to Hudson. I’m here for the Italian mafia in LA. This is a hot mess that Ace doesn’t need to get involved in. It’s my problem to sort out.
"Am I free to go?" I ask.
