My chest ached. “Kade…”
“They finally split when I was twenty. You’d think that would’ve been the end of it, but they just found new ways to self-destruct. Dad drank himself half to death. Mom cycled through relationships that made the marriage look healthy by comparison.” His eyes finally came back to mine, cold and guarded. “Love isn’t a fairy tale. It’s a trap. And I’m not walking into it.”
The words hung between us, heavy and bitter. I thought about my own parents—married young, still happy, still holding hands when they thought no one was watching. I’d grown up believing that was normal. That love, when it was real, actually worked.
Kade had grown up learning the opposite lesson.
“That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard,” I said softly.
His eyes dropped to my mouth, then snapped back up. A muscle ticked in his jaw. The air in the trailer felt thicker suddenly, charged.
“What about you?” he asked, and his voice had changed. Rougher. More dangerous. “You’re twenty-three. Focused on your career. But surely there’s been someone.”
I should have laughed it off. Made a joke about small-town dating pools or demanding work schedules. Instead, the truth slipped out before I could stop it.
“No. Not really.” I tucked my hair behind my ear, a nervous habit I couldn’t seem to break. “I’ve been so focused on proving myself, on being more than the youngest person in the room, that I never—” I trailed off, feeling my cheeks heat. “I’ve never actually let anyone close enough. To do anything.”
Understanding dawned in his expression. Something predatory flickered in those pale eyes—hunger, barely leashed—and I watched him fight it down. Watched the battle play out across his features as he gripped the edge of his chair like it was the only thing keeping him anchored.
“You should go,” he said, voice strained. “It’s getting late.”
“Probably.” I didn’t move.
The silence stretched between us, taut as a wire. Every sensible instinct I had was screaming at me to grab my bag and leave before I did something stupid.
I stayed exactly where I was.
He reached out slowly, almost against his will, and brushed a strand of hair from my face. His fingers grazed my cheek, rough and warm, and my breath caught in my throat.
“I’m not good for you,” he muttered. “I don’t do this. I don’t believe in this. I can’t give you what you deserve, and I won’t pretend otherwise.”
“Maybe I’m not asking you to.”
“Gemma.” My name sounded like a warning on his lips. Or a prayer. “I’m serious. I’m not the kind of man who?—”
I kissed him.
It was clumsy at first, uncertain. My mouth found his at an awkward angle, and for one horrible second, I thought I’d made a terrible mistake.
Then his hand fisted in my hair and he took over.
He kissed me like he was angry about wanting me. Like every wall he’d built was crumbling and he hated me for it. His otherhand gripped my waist, yanking me out of my chair, and I went willingly, grabbing fistfuls of his flannel shirt to pull him closer.
He tasted like coffee, and it made my head spin. His stubble scraped against my chin as he changed the angle, deepening the kiss until I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but hold on.
“This is a bad idea,” he growled against my mouth.
“Terrible,” I agreed, and kissed him harder.
He stood abruptly, lifting me with him like I weighed nothing, and swept the papers off his desk with one arm. I gasped as he set me on the edge, stepping between my thighs, his hands sliding up to cup my face.
“Last chance to walk away,” he said, his forehead pressed to mine, both of us breathing hard.
I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him closer.
We were past the point of stopping, and we both knew it.
4