Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 47714 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 239(@200wpm)___ 191(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47714 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 239(@200wpm)___ 191(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
I knew I should look away. This sight was dangerous because it screamed that she was mine. Not in words. But in ways that truly mattered.
Finally tearing my eyes away, I glanced up to see her staring back at me. Shit. She’d caught me ogling. Of course she did.
Her gaze held mine for a long second—steady and searching, like she was trying to figure out what I wasn’t saying.
I turned away first, my jaw locked tight, forcing my attention to the window and the dark line of the dunes beyond it. My pulse still pounded, my body sizzled with desire, and my cock was so hard it ached.
The house was quiet, but it didn’t feel peaceful anymore. It felt like I was standing too close to the fire.
14
ALANNA
Three days. That was how long we’d been holed up in the beach house, pretending the outside world didn’t exist while Chance did his best to ignore the chemistry between us.
The ocean crashed in steady rhythm beyond the dunes, wind hissing through the weathered siding, but nothing could distract me from Chance. I was acutely aware of his every movement, to the point where even his quiet exhales seemed to vibrate through the walls.
He didn’t talk much. He never really did. But I somehow knew when his gaze was on me.
No matter where I was—reading on the couch, working on my laptop, or wandering barefoot across the sand—he tracked me. And that awareness was starting to feel like a touch all its own.
I’d pushed back in subtle ways. Stretching a little longer than necessary when I caught him glancing up from his phone. Brushing past him in the narrow kitchen instead of stepping aside. Drawing out mornings in the oversized shirt he’d lent me the first day we arrived, even though my bag of clothes had shown up yesterday.
He hadn’t said a single word about it.
That, more than anything, told me he’d noticed.
Chance had a talent for holding his emotions behind that cool mask of discipline. But the longer we stayed here, the less effective it was.
Sometimes I caught the flash of heat in his eyes before he looked away. How his jaw flexed when I laughed. When he muttered something under his breath that I wasn’t meant to catch.
The chemistry between us wasn’t a question anymore. It was a living, breathing thing stalking the small spaces we shared.
And if he thought he could outlast me, he was wrong.
Because every time his gaze slid over me, or his hand brushed mine when he passed me a mug of coffee, the air between us tightened until it hurt, and I wanted him more.
I needed him to stop pretending.
To stop fighting it.
To stop treating me like I was just Jaxton’s little sister. The same kid he’d met so many years ago.
I wondered if the time for subtlety had passed, and I needed to push harder to make him break.
Or maybe that was just the storm talking—the one outside matching the chaos inside me.
The wind had started sometime after midnight, rattling the shutters and carrying the crash of waves up from the beach. Each gust made the old boards groan. The power flickered once, and the air felt thick.
Sleep didn’t come easy. And when it finally did, it brought the wrong kind of dreams—Ethan’s voice whispering through the dark, the slam of a door, the phantom weight of a hand on my wrist. I jolted awake, my chest heaving and the storm still raging outside.
Thunder rolled close enough to shake the glass. I pushed the blanket aside and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. The floorboards were cool under my bare feet as I padded toward the kitchen, still wearing Chance’s shirt with nothing but a pair of panties underneath.
Lightning flared through the window, spilling pale light across the room. In the next second, darkness swallowed it again. I reached for a glass in the cupboard and filled it from the tap, the hiss of water too loud in the hush.
“You okay?”
His voice came from behind me, rough with sleep and low enough to send a shiver down my spine.
I turned, the glass halfway to my lips. Chance stood near the doorway, shirtless with sweatpants hanging low on his hips.
“Just needed some water,” I murmured.
He nodded once but didn’t move away. Lightning flashed again, carving his features in sharp relief—the hard planes of muscle and the unyielding set of his jaw. His gaze caught mine and didn’t let go.
I took a slow sip, my pulse thrumming in my ears. “You can’t look at me like that and expect me to pretend you don’t feel something for me. As more than just Jaxton’s sister.”
For a heartbeat, neither of us breathed.
He took a few steps closer. “Never said I didn’t feel something for you.”
“You never say anything at all,” I muttered, setting the glass down before it slipped from my hand.