He stood up, his movements fluid and silent, and refilled both our glasses.
But instead of returning to the rug, he came to my armchair, crouching down in front of me so we were at eye level.
The heat from the fire was at my back, but the heat radiating from him was a thousand times more potent.
His scent filled my senses—damp cotton, whiskey, and something uniquely, intoxicatingly Rhys.
“You’re not helpless, Ava,” he said, his voice a husky murmur.
His eyes, dark and intense, held mine. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. You survived that asshole. And you built yourself a fortress. But you don’t have to live in it alone. “
My breath caught in my throat.
The space between us had vanished. I could see the flecks of gold in his irises, feel the warmth of his breath on my face. The storm outside faded to a distant roar, the fire to a peripheral blur.
The entire universe had contracted to this single, heart-stopping moment.
My rules. *Don’t get involved. He’s the best man. He’s the bride’s brother. It’s temporary. It’s a mistake. * The words screamed in my head, a frantic, failing mantra.
He slowly raised a hand, his calloused thumb coming up to trace the line of my jaw, his touch both rough and gentle. It set my skin on fire.
“The problem with plans,” he whispered, his gaze dropping to my lips, “is they don’t account for this. “
This.
“The undeniable, cataclysmic pull that had been arcing between us from the moment we met. The raw honesty we’d just shared had stripped away the last of our defenses, leaving nothing but this dangerous, desperate need.”
My carefully constructed walls were crumbling.
My protocols were offline.
My meticulously planned world was being washed away, and in its place was the terrifying, exhilarating chaos of Rhys Davenport.
I gave a shuddering breath, a sound that was half sob, half surrender. It was all the permission he needed.
He leaned in, closing the final inch between us.
His mouth met mine, and it wasn’t a gentle exploration. It was a collision. It was desperate and hungry, a release of all the tension, all the unspoken words, all the forbidden desire that had been simmering for days.
He tasted of whiskey and smoke and the storm itself, and I met his fervor with my own, my hands coming up to tangle in his damp hair, pulling him closer.
This was no plan.
This was no contingency.
This was a breaking point.
And as his kiss deepened, moving from my mouth to my jaw, down the sensitive column of my throat, I knew, with a terrifying certainty, that I was about to break every single one of my rules.
And I didn’t want to stop.