With the door shut, I rest my back against it, not saying anything. Whatever’s going through his head, whatever’s going to happen… it has to come from him. I don’t know how long we stay there like that—his back to me, neither of us saying a word—but he eventually turns to face me, agony written clear as day on his face.

“I hate you for what you did to me.” His voice is rough, gravelly.

I tip my head, my heart in my throat. “I know.”

“I shouldn’t still want you as much as I do.” He takes one single step toward me.

“I shouldn’t think about you day in and day fucking out.” Another step that halts my breathing.

“My body shouldn’t be able to sense your presence.” Another step.

“I shouldn’t crave your touch, or fantasize about your taste, or even miss your gaze on my body.” With one final step, he’s directly in front of me. So close, I can taste the champagne he’s been drinking as his breath fans my face.

My head’s light as my heart beats wildly in my chest. I’m holding on to his every word, desperate to hear what comes next.

When he speaks again, it’s barely above a whisper, almost like if he says it quietly enough, it won’t be true. “But I do. God, I fucking do.”

He plants his hands on the door beside my head. His gaze falls from my eyes down to my mouth. On instinct, my tongue swipes across my lips, wetting them. When he peers back up into my eyes, his are full of unbridled hunger. Hunger he clearly doesn’t want to have.

“What is it about you that I just can’t get over? Why do I feel this overwhelming, undeniable pull toward you?” I’m not even sure if he’s talking to me, or to himself, but I reply anyway.

“I don’t know, but I feel it too.”

His eyes close and he hangs his head between his shoulders, hands still on either side of my head. I wish I knew what was going through his mind.

“Goddamnit, Stone,” he growls, his palm slapping the wall. He lifts his head, studying me for a single moment before his resolve snaps. His lips crash against mine like a chaotic tornado—rough, unpredictable, and all-consuming. The fervor behind his kiss would knock me off my feet if I wasn’t backed up against this wall.

His tongue dives between my lips, licking every corner of my mouth as his right hand drops to my neck, holding me in place with his grip. His lips on mine, and his tongue inside my mouth, it’s nostalgic.