“Are you kidding me?” she screamed. “Are you—” her hands flew up. “You bring me to therapy. Hold me. Take me to dinner! Let me tell you everything—and then you slide that in like it’s just a footnote?!”
“I wasn’t trying to hide it, I always planned to tell you. I just didn’t want to ruin tonight.”
“Oh, you mean the one night you weren’t actively ruining my life?”
He took a step toward her. She shoved him back.
“Get out!”
“No.”
“No?!”
“No, I’m not leaving. I told you I’m here and I meant it. This was never about Corrine?—”
“This was always about Corrine!”
Adair’s voice rose. “She’s just co-counsel! I don’t even want her on the deal. The firm assigned her!”
“FUCK YOU!” she slapped him and his jaw flexed as the tension cracked between them like lightning. Bodies too close. Rage too sharp. She shoved him and again. And again. He grabbed her wrist. She tried to pull away, but he held on.
“Let go of me,” she whispered.
“Then stop pulling me back in,” he whispered right back. Their mouths were inches apart. Her chest rose. His hands gripped her tighter.
And then?—
She kissed him.
Hard. Furious. Wild.
Clothes came off. A slap across his chest turned into her gasping in his ear. Her nails raked down his back. His hand gripped the back of her neck. They crashed into each other like a fight.
Like a fire.
The sex was everything it had always been—angry, beautiful, rough and nasty. Unforgiving. Explosive. A collision of grief and lust and betrayal and history.
And when it was over, she didn’t speak.
Neither did he.
But she didn’t make him leave either.
And maybe that, too, was its own kind of war. They held one another kissing. They weren’t kissing to heal. They were kissing to forget—for five minutes, ten, however long their bodies could to override the damage.
The room was dim now, lit only by the soft glow of the lamp on her nightstand. They lay tangled under the covers, skin sticky with sweat, hearts still beating in tandem from the storm they’d just weathered. Sabine’s head rested on his chest, one leg draped over his, her fingertips lazily drawing shapes on the scar near his ribs—the one he got falling off a dirtbike as a child.
Adair kissed her hair. Again and again.
They were quiet for a while. Letting breath return. Letting silence settle the way it only could after chaos. Then—her voice, quiet.
“Why…her?”
“You won’t have to talk to her,” he turned slightly, enough to face her. “She’s only co-counsel on two subfiles, and I’m the one interfacing directly with Pillar Grove and Lewin. If I could pull her completely, I would.”
“I don’t want to see her.”
“I know baby,” his lips brushed her skin. “I know…but,” he sighed. “We just took on a massive class action case with over 200 clients. The entire mid-level litigation teams tied up. Corrine was the only senior associate available who had the background in joint venture structuring. It’s temporary.”