SOMETHING YOU SHOULDN'T WANT

HIS TOUCH, HER FIRE🔥

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Chapter Five

Something You Shouldn’t Want

The wind picked up as Evelyn rode the ATV across the far fields, her fingers clenched tight on the grips, her braid snapping behind her like a whip. The Romano name was all over her brain like a stain she couldn’t scrub out. Not just Damien anymore—but all of them. Luca had sent her a link to some sleek app design mock-up “in case she ever wanted to digitize the ranch,” and Dante had casually shown up at the farmer’s co-op talking gym memberships and local partnerships like he belonged. It was calculated. It was charming. It was suffocating. But it was Damien who got under her skin the most. Always him. Always that look like he could see her without her ever opening her mouth. It had been days since the town incident, but she could still feel his words echoing inside her—You don’t need anyone. And that’s your tragedy.

By the time she reached the fence, her head was buzzing and her throat was tight. She had work to do, but her hands moved slower than usual. She didn’t hear the other engine until she felt it vibrate through the ground. Turning sharply, her jaw clenched when Damien’s jet-black SUV crawled down the dirt trail like a predator. He stepped out dressed too perfectly for ranch terrain—pressed slacks, an open collar, his hair tousled like sin, and eyes already stripping her to nerve.

“You’ve got a death wish, Romano,” she growled. “Showing up here again.”

“I brought peace offerings,” he said, holding up a brown paper bag. “Peach cobbler from that bakery you love. Still warm.”

“Bribery.”

“Baked persuasion.”

She eyed the bag. Her stomach betrayed her with a low growl. She hadn’t eaten since dawn. “You’ve got five minutes.”

They sat at the broken bench near the fence line. He handed her the dessert without a word. She stabbed the fork through it like it was his ego and took a bite. It was flaky, buttery, disgustingly perfect. She hated that she moaned softly without meaning to. His eyes snapped to her mouth. She froze.

“Damien—”

“You should do that more often,” he said, voice low.

“Eat?”

“Let yourself feel.”

She stood abruptly, pacing. “You don’t know me.”

“I want to.”

“Well, I don’t want to be known.”

“I don’t believe you.” He stood too, stepping closer. “I think you’re terrified of being seen, because the last time someone looked too closely, they walked away.”

Her hands trembled. “You don’t get to poke around in my life like it’s yours to touch.”

“Then why haven’t you kicked me off this land again?”

She turned, chest heaving. “Because... I don’t know.”

He reached for her hand. She didn’t pull away.

“You’re fire,” he murmured. “And I keep burning.”

Their mouths collided like magnets. There was no softness this time—just hunger, teeth, breath. His hands slammed into her hips, pulling her against him. Hers clawed up his shirt, dragging nails over his back. When he pressed her to the fence post, she gasped—half pain, half pleasure. His lips trailed down her throat, finding the spot where her pulse thundered.

“You should hate me,” he said against her skin.

“I do,” she whispered, curling her fingers into his hair. “So much.”

Their kiss deepened again, full of contradictions—hatred laced with need, fury drowned in heat.

But just as quickly, she pulled away, breath ragged. “This is a mistake.”

He stepped back. “Why?”

“Because I can’t afford to want something I shouldn’t. And you—” she shook her head, “—you’re a tornado in tailored clothing.”

He didn’t argue. Just gave her one last look—something unspoken but devastating—and walked back to his car.

She stayed frozen there long after he was gone.

That night, Evelyn didn’t sleep. Every inch of her skin remembered his touch. Her heart beat too fast, her body too restless. She worked into the early hours—feeding, cleaning, fixing gate locks, anything to shake him from her head. Around 2AM, her phone rang. It was Marla.

“You need to see this,” she said, panic in her voice.

Evelyn blinked. “What?”

“Check the town gossip page.”

She opened the local F******k group. The first post hit her like a bullet. BREAKING: FARM GIRL FIGHTS BILLIONAIRE TRIPLETS IN TOWN SQUARE—KISSES ONE HOURS LATER? There was a photo. Her. Damien. At the fence. Their mouths locked, her leg hooked around his hip like a scene from a damn romance novel.

“Oh my God,” she breathed. The caption: Is Evelyn Blake the reason behind Romano Development halts? Sources say she refused to sell and might be tangled in something more personal…

Her phone blew up with messages. DMs from strangers. People she hadn’t talked to in years. A few threats. A lot of judgment.

By morning, the bakery refused her order. At the gas station, she got stared down like a villain. Someone spit near her boots. Whispers followed her everywhere.

By afternoon, the ranch had a visitor.

A black car pulled up with tinted windows. A man in a charcoal suit stepped out. Silver-haired, with a posture like royalty and eyes like knives.

“Miss Blake?” he said.

“Depends on who’s asking.”

“Call me Nicholas Romano,” he said. “I’m their father.”

Her blood turned to ice.

He motioned to the porch. “May I?”

“No.”

He smiled thinly. “Very well. I’ll speak plainly. My sons are reckless. Damien, most of all. He makes messes with women like wildfire. But they don’t usually make headlines.”

She crossed her arms. “I didn’t ask for attention.”

“No. But you brought it. And I don’t care what Damien thinks he wants. This will end. Now.”

She stepped forward, fists clenched. “Your son is not a child.”

“He’s my legacy. And you’re not part of it.”

The words hit her like slaps. “So I’m too poor, too dirty for your empire?”

“You’re unstable. Your land is worth less than your pride. But if you walk away now, I’ll pay off your debts and make this go away.”

She stared at him. “You think I’d take your money?”

“I think everyone has a price.”

She shook her head slowly. “Tell Damien I’m not his charity. And tell yourself this: I might be fire, but your son walked straight into the blaze.”

She turned and walked away before she screamed.

That night, she sat in silence, staring at the fire pit behind her house. Marla came by, but Evelyn waved her off. When the stars came out, she finally let herself cry—quiet, angry tears that left trails on her cheeks and didn’t fix a damn thing.

Then headlights flashed.

She stood up slowly, spine tense.

Damien got out of the car.

“I didn’t send him,” he said.

“I don’t care.”

“He’s wrong about you.”

She crossed her arms. “But you didn’t stop him.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Would you have?”

He looked down. “I don’t know.”

“Then leave.”

He started to, but paused. “Evelyn. What’s happening between us—don’t pretend it’s one-sided.”

“I’m not,” she whispered. “But wanting you is the most dangerous thing I’ve ever done.”

Then she shut the door in his face.

And it felt like she’d just torn out a piece of herself to do it.

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