Elodie’s POV
The taste of him hits me like a physical blow. Bitter bourbon, warm cedar, and a suffocating, intoxicating rush of pure nostalgia.
For a single, wild second, every nerve in my body screams at me to shove him away. My hands grip the lapels of his creased suit jacket, fingers digging into the fabric, intending to push his heavy frame off me. But then his mouth shifts against mine, desperate and bruising, and the seven years of furious, bitter aching inside my chest simply collapse in on themselves.
The anger does not vanish. It transforms, morphing into a white hot, volatile heat that blazes straight through my veins.
I do not push him away. Instead, my hands twist tightly into his jacket, pulling him closer until there is not a sliver of air left between us. I kiss him back
