“Hey,” he murmurs.
The word is rough.
Tender.
Dangerously sweet.
“Hey,” I whisper back.
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
The look in his eyes makes my pulse stumble.
Not because of what he wants from me.
But because of how carefully he's holding himself back.
As if giving me room to change my mind matters more than what he wants.
As if I matter more than what he wants.
The thought wrecks me.
My hands slide higher, settling against his shoulders.
Solid.
Warm.
Safe.
And suddenly I understand why women write songs about men like Kai Montego.
Why they write poems.
Why they make terrible decisions.
Because standing here wrapped up in his arms feels a little like coming home.
His thumb brushes lightly against my side.
A tiny touch.
Barely anything.
Yet it sends a shiver racing through me.
His eyes darken when he notices.
Not predatory.
Not possessive.
Just honest.
Just wanting.
And somehow that makes it even harder to look away.
