Chapter 4: THE MIDNIGHT ENCOUNTER

I couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, my body replayed the afternoon—his hands, his mouth, the bruising demand of his voice echoing in the quiet.

At 2:00 AM, I gave up. Slipping out of bed, I padded downstairs to the kitchen in my thin silk camisole and shorts, desperate for a glass of ice water to clear the static in my head.

I didn't expect to find him.

Cole was sitting alone in the dark at the granite island, a half-empty glass of amber whiskey resting in his hand. The moonlight through the tall windows cut across his sharp profile, making him look pale, haunted, and dangerously exposed.

"Can't sleep?" his voice drifted across the room, low and rough.

"No," I whispered, reaching for a glass. "Me neither."

I poured the water, my back to him, but I could feel his gaze tracing the line of my spine. When I turned around, he hadn't moved. The silence between us stretched, thick with everything we had done—and everything we were pretending to forget.

"You should be resting," he said, taking a slow sip.

"So should you." I leaned against the counter opposite him, gripping my glass. "Why are you out here, Cole?"

"Thinking."

"About what?"

His dark eyes found mine in the shadows. "About how efficient you are at undoing my discipline."

A shiver ran down my arms. "You're the one who revised rule eight."

"A lapse in judgment."

"Liar," I said softly, stepping closer to the island. "You don't make lapses. You make choices."

A small, dangerous smile touched the corner of his mouth. "Maybe."

He reached across the smooth granite. His fingers brushed against my wrist before taking my hand, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles into the center of my palm. The heat was instantaneous, pulling an involuntary gasp from my throat.

"Tell me to stop, Cleo," he murmured, his thumb pressing into my pulse point.

"I can't."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want you to."

Cole stood up slowly, the movement fluid and imposing. He didn't let go of my hand as he rounded the island, closing the distance until he was towering over me. The scent of woodsmoke and fine bourbon radiated off him, thick enough to make me dizzy.

"I can't stop thinking about you," he admitted, his voice dropping an octave, raw and stripped of his usual armor. "It's becoming a distraction."

"That's the problem."

"I know."

He brought my hand to his mouth, pressing a hot kiss to my knuckles, then my wrist, tracking the racing beat beneath my skin. His dark eyes flickered upward, heavy-lidded and intense.

"Go to bed, Cleo."

"What if I don't want to?"

"Then you're playing a very dangerous game," he warned, his chest rising and falling against mine. "And I don’t lose."

"Neither do I."

He didn't give me time to process the defiance before his mouth claimed mine.

It wasn't gentle. It was a desperate, bruising collision. His hands tangled in my loose hair, pulling my head back to deepen the angle as he pressed me hard against the edge of the kitchen counter. I arched into him, my hands finding the broad expanse of his chest, feeling the frantic thud of his heart match my own.

He lifted me by my thighs, setting me on the cool granite and stepping between my knees. His body pressed flush against mine—hard, demanding, and impossible to ignore.

"I want you," he growled against my lips, his breath hot and ragged.

"Then take me."

His hands gripped my hips, fingers digging into my skin through the thin silk, but then he froze. He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against mine as a heavy shudder racked his frame.

"Not like this," he rasped, fighting for control. "Go to bed. Now. Before I lose my mind entirely."

He pulled back abruptly, leaving me cold and breathless on the counter.

I retreated to my room on shaking legs. The ache he left behind was a physical weight, thrumming beneath my skin. I collapsed onto the bed, staring up at the dark ceiling, my heart hammering as his low voice lingered in my head.

I want you.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand, shattering the quiet.

I reached for it, expecting a notification or an alarm. Instead, a single message lit up the dark screen from an unlisted number:

You're in danger. Leave the mansion. Now.