THE HEAT BEHIND THE NAME

HIS TOUCH, HER FIRE🔥

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Chapter Four

The Heat Behind the Name

Evelyn should’ve known better than to accept a dance from Damien Romano. Because one dance turned into two. And two turned into a smoldering silence between them that stretched all the way to the parking lot and lit her thoughts on fire long after she slammed her truck door shut.

Three days later, she found him again—on her land.

She heard the engine first, a sleek European purr that didn’t belong anywhere near dust or cattle. When she stepped out from the barn, he was already out of the car, wearing navy slacks, a button-down she could smell the cologne from, and a smug grin like he was waiting for applause.

“You lost?” she asked, arms crossed, boots planted.

“Not at all,” he said, glancing around like he’d just bought the view. “Just admiring the scenery.”

“You’ve got ten seconds to stop trespassing before I show you what country girls do to uninvited guests.”

He laughed. “What, hit me with a rake?”

She stepped forward, grabbed a shovel leaning by the barn door, and swung it at the ground with a crack loud enough to make him flinch. “Try me.”

A second voice rang out. “That’s the one, huh?”

Evelyn turned, jaw tight. A man emerged from the passenger seat. Slightly shorter than Damien, he was stockier, wearing joggers and a fitted tank top that clung to biceps sculpted like Roman statues. Tattoos curled along his arms, and his smirk was just as annoying.

“Evelyn, meet my brother, Dante,” Damien said, clearly entertained.

“The personal trainer,” Dante added, flexing a little. “I run gyms up and down the East Coast.”

“Good for you,” Evelyn deadpanned. “Still trespassing.”

Another car door shut. This time it was a taller figure with leaner muscle, dark-rimmed glasses, and a hoodie that said CODE OVER CHAOS. He adjusted his watch and kept his distance, clearly more reserved.

“Let me guess,” she muttered. “You design websites?”

“Apps,” the man said with a subtle nod. “Luca Romano.”

Evelyn’s brows arched. “Triplets. Of course. Like I didn’t already have enough headaches.”

Dante stepped closer, eyeing the barn, the land, the dust on her jeans. “You’re really out here doing this yourself?”

“Every damn day.”

“Respect,” he said with a shrug.

Luca tilted his head. “Why’re we really here, Damien?”

Damien smiled slowly. “To get her to consider selling.”

Evelyn’s fists curled. “I already said no. You think bringing backup would change that?”

“I think showing you I’m serious would,” Damien said. “We’re building a luxury retreat two towns over. Spa, organic vineyard, you name it. Your land fits the aesthetic. Rustic charm, proximity to our site. I’ll triple what the bank’s holding against you.”

“You think you can buy everything, don’t you?” Evelyn growled. “You think because you wear silk and drive pretty toys and flash a checkbook, everyone drops to their knees?”

Damien’s voice darkened. “No. I think you’re drowning, and your pride’s the only thing keeping you from grabbing the rope.”

She moved so fast none of them saw it coming. Her hand cracked across his face—flesh meeting cheekbone with a satisfying snap. Dante flinched. Luca blinked. Damien… just smiled.

“You’re lucky I find that kind of rage sexy,” he murmured.

She shoved him back. “Get off my property.”

Dante stepped in. “Whoa, hey, he’s an ass but no need to throw hands—”

She punched him too. Not hard. Just enough to make him stumble. “Equal opportunity rage.”

Luca raised his hands and backed toward the car. “I’m not even part of this.”

When they finally left, the dust cloud they kicked up was the only thing Evelyn could breathe.

Later that evening, she vented to Marla over beers and bonfire smoke behind the ranch house.

“They showed up like they owned the place,” she hissed. “Triplets. Built like sin. One’s got tattoos and attitude, another looks like a tech god, and Damien—he just watches me like he already knows what I taste like.”

Marla howled with laughter. “Girl, your life is a whole soap opera. Next thing you’ll tell me is they’re secret assassins.”

“I wish they were. At least then I’d know what to do.”

Marla sipped from her bottle. “You’re scared.”

Evelyn stiffened. “I’m furious.”

“No,” Marla said softly. “You’re scared of wanting something you can’t afford to want. You like him. Even his arrogance.”

“I don’t—”

“Evie, you punched a billionaire in the face, and he smiled. That’s not normal.”

“Nothing about this is normal,” she muttered, looking up at the stars.

But the truth clawed at her chest. Damien Romano made her feel like lightning—like everything inside her was alive and dangerous. And that kind of feeling... it didn’t go away quietly.

Two days later, she went into town to deliver paperwork at the feed store. She parked her truck, stepped out, and walked straight into a nightmare.

Outside the bakery, two women were arguing. Loudly. One of them was her former high school enemy turned mayor’s daughter, Darlene Henson—still blonde, still plastic, and still ready to start fights in designer heels. The other was Rosa, a sweet older woman who worked part-time at the florist and had the misfortune of bumping into Darlene’s car in the lot.

“It’s a scratch,” Rosa said gently. “Barely even visible.”

“You peasants always say that,” Darlene snapped.

Evelyn dropped her bag. “Hey!”

Darlene turned. “Oh, great. The cowgirl.”

“You're yelling at a seventy-year-old woman over a paint chip?”

“She dented my Audi!”

“She nudged it. And if you don’t shut your Barbie mouth, I swear I will use you as fertilizer.”

Darlene gasped. “You’re threatening me in public?”

“Promise,” Evelyn said, stepping into her space.

People started gathering. Phones came out. Someone whispered world star.

Then—click. A camera flash.

Evelyn turned and found Damien Romano standing nearby with his phone up, recording.

She groaned. “Why are you everywhere?”

“I have excellent timing,” he said. “And taste.”

“I’m not entertainment.”

“No. You’re... everything else.”

She blinked. For once, his voice was serious. Soft.

“You were defending someone,” he said. “It’s reckless. Messy. But oddly admirable.”

“I don’t need your compliments.”

“You don’t need anyone,” he said. “And that’s your tragedy.”

Before she could respond, he walked off.

And she hated how badly she wanted to chase him.

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