The kiss detonated the air between us. It wasn’t a collision; it was a chemical reaction, raw and absolute, breaking apart only when our lungs burned for air. We stood in the center of my living room, chests heaving, the charged silence broken by our ragged breaths.
His eyes, when they met mine, were a turbulent storm. The anger was there, but beneath it was a stark, desperate desire that felt like a brand on my skin. His grip on my arms loosened, his hands sliding down to my waist. The gesture was no less possessive, but it was dangerously intimate.
My mind fractured. The daughter—the one who lived for vengeance—screamed betrayal. This is the man who destroyed your father. The enemy. But the woman, caught in the circle of his arms, was reeling from a physical response so potent it torch
