The heat

Chapter 16 – The heat

I didn’t go looking at George Lachlan. I didn’t search the house hoping to “accidentally” run into Julian Lachlan, shirtless and smug with another cigarette tucked between his lips. I wasn’t planning to think about the way he looked at me in the room last night, flicking my bean.

But the thing about fire, it finds you.

I was heading to the library after Aaron had left me behind. I’d overheard Clara mention there were panels in there that hadn’t been opened in years. And if this house was truly full of riddles, then the library seemed like a good place to start unraveling them.

I turned the corner.

And there he was.

Leaning against the doorframe like some carved sin in human form. Julian. His sleeves were rolled up. His jaw was sharp. And that stare… God, it hit me like a slap and a whisper at the same time.

“Well, if it isn’t the heiress with a habit of wandering into trouble,” he said, voice low and rough.

I didn’t stop walking. “If you’re planning to start another fight, save it. I’m fresh out of fucks.”

His mouth tilted into the faintest smirk. “That makes two of us.”

I tried to step past him. He blocked me with his shoulder.

“I said move,” I hissed.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he leaned in close, his breath warm against my cheek. “Tell me, Hailey… What are you really looking for in this house? Or did you come here just to shake the walls?”

I met his gaze, unblinking. “Maybe I came here to burn it down.”

The heat in his eyes deepened, darkened.

Something shifted in the air between us—tense, heavy, like the seconds before a lightning strike. My chest rose, too fast, too hard. I hated how close he was. I hated how good he smelled—woodsmoke and danger. I hated that every time he looked at me like this, my knees felt unsteady and my thoughts turned dirty.

He brushed a thumb over the side of my neck, just once. “You keep acting like you want a war.”

“Maybe I do.”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Then pick your weapon, Hailey.”

I stepped back before I did something reckless. Like, kiss him. Or slap him. Or both.

“You don’t scare me,” I said, quieter than I meant to.

“I should.”

The words hung in the air between us like a dare. Then, just as suddenly, he stepped aside and nodded to the library doors.

“Ladies first.”

I walked in, spine straight. If he wanted to haunt me, I’d be a damn ghost hunter.

The library was massive—floor-to-ceiling shelves, ladders on rails, two stories of wood, dust, and whispered history. And silence. Beautiful, thick silence.

Julian followed me inside, but said nothing. He moved like a shadow—silent but impossible to ignore.

“Why are you really here, Hailey?” he asked finally.

I turned to him. “What is it with you Lachlan boys and needing to pick apart everything I do?”

“Because nothing you do makes sense.” He stepped closer. “You move like you belong here. You speak like this house owes you something. But we don’t know you.”

“No,” I said calmly. “But you’re going to.”

We stared at each other.

The silence grew hot.

Too hot.

I turned to scan the bookshelf nearest to me just to break it—but then I noticed something. A gap behind a row of leather-bound encyclopedias. Just a sliver, but it was enough.

Julian noticed me noticing.

“What?”

“There’s something back here.”

I reached for the books and tugged the entire row forward. They didn’t budge. I tried pressing down on the spine of one, then another. Click.

Something shifted.

A breath later, the panel to the right of the bookshelf popped open with a soft groan. A hidden door.

Julian let out a low whistle. “Well, would you look at that.”

“Don’t act surprised,” I said. “Your family built a damn labyrinth.”

He stepped past me, peering inside the narrow passage. “Want to go first?”

“Scared?”

“No. Just polite.”

I rolled my eyes and stepped into the darkness. The air was cooler in here, damp with secrets. Julian followed close behind, our bodies brushing in the tight space. Every time my shoulder hit his chest, I felt the heat again.

It was getting harder to breathe.

Not from fear.

From him.

The corridor twisted sharply to the left, ending in a narrow metal staircase that spiraled downward.

“You ever think George built this whole place just to fuck with people?” I asked, halfway down the steps.

“Constantly.”

We reached the bottom and found ourselves in a small room with a stone floor, a desk, and dozens of pinned photos, letters, maps. A memory vault.

Julian stepped closer to one of the walls. “These are all Lachlan-related. These are our ancestors. Newspaper clippings. And…” he trailed off, reaching for a photo near the corner. “That’s my mother.”

I turned. Debra was younger. Happier. Holding a baby that looked nothing like her.

“That’s not you,” I whispered.

“No.”

He stared at it for a long moment, then put it down and faced me again.

“You were never supposed to be part of this,” he said. “But now that you are, you have no idea what it’s going to cost.”

I swallowed. “Try me.”

No preamble, no hesitation—just his mouth on mine, fierce and searing, like a flame devouring dry wood. His kiss was a claim, hungry and unyielding, his tongue sliding against mine with a desperation that made my knees buckle. I kissed him back, just as wild, my fingers clawing into his shirt, pulling him closer. His hands gripped my hips, rough and possessive, lifting me effortlessly. My back slammed against the stone wall, the impact stealing my breath.

He was fire—untamed, dangerous, consuming.

His lips trailed to my jaw, my throat, each kiss a brand that burned deeper. “You drive me insane,” he growled against my skin, his voice ragged. His hand slid beneath my shirt, fingers grazing the curve of my waist, igniting a molten ache. I arched into him, my body betraying every shred of reason, craving more.

My nails raked down his back, drawing a low, primal groan from him. “You hate me,” I gasped, even as I pressed myself closer, feeling the hard length of him against my thigh.

“Always,” he murmured, but his hands said otherwise, one tangling in my hair, the other gripping my thigh, urging me higher. Our mouths collided again, a battle of teeth and tongues, each touch a spark threatening to engulf us both.

Then, abruptly, he pulled back, chest heaving, eyes black with desire and defiance. “This changes nothing,” he said, his breath hot against my swollen lips.

I smirked, my body still humming with his touch, my heart a riot. “Keep telling yourself that.”

And I walked out of the secret room, pulse still racing, with the ghost of his kiss burning on my lips.