🔥 STEAMY ALERT—mild steaminess in this chapter 🔥

♫ I know, I know you know you're scared
Your heart, your mind, your soul, your body ♪
(Nick Jonas ft. Tove Lo—Close)
(OKAY but this video is FIRE EMOJISx1000)

"How do you know where I live?" Coralie lowered her far-from-threatening heel and picked up her key to stuff it into the lock, elbowing Ryan out of the way.

"You told me, don't you remember?" He chuckled, unfazed by her icy demeanor. "We joked about me showing up after one of our sessions, and you typed up your address. You didn't think I'd save that for emergencies?"

"Emergencies?" Coralie nearly kicked the door open and threw her purse onto the couch.

She spun to block Ryan from entering, but she wasn't fast enough. He slithered in and held onto the door, stopping her from trying to shove it in his face.

"You call this an emergency?" She pushed, desperate to give him the hint he wasn't welcome; but he was too strong, resisting her attempt at getting rid of him.

"I do. You telling me to fuck off on the sidewalk next to your bar didn't please me. I had to retaliate." His eyes narrowed as he seized the doorknob and yanked the door from Coralie's grasp to shut it.

She had nothing to prevent him from approaching her, so she flicked the light switch on, dropped her heels, and hurried into the kitchen, squirreling behind the counter, needing something large to separate them.

"You weren't listening to me, so I had to be a bit blunt."

"Bloody rude, you mean." To her dismay, he wandered farther inside and unbuttoned his suit jacket as he gaped at the décor, taking in his surroundings. "If I wasn't so shocked by it, I'd say it was quite sexy seeing you so angry."

She groaned; what was sexy was his voice, and his accent. She'd been so heated earlier that she hadn't taken a second to enjoy the way his words rolled out, the way his tone deepened when he spoke to her.

"Don't start," she said, biting her lip as she watched his jacket sliding down his arms in slow motion. "Don't take anything off, dammit! You're not staying here, you have to—"

"—leave?" He arrived at her side, having sauntered over too fast for her to stop him. She'd hoped to put something in his way, something to bar his route—but the only obstacle big enough would have been a barstool, and those were on the opposite side of the counter. Too far from reach.

She skidded to the right, to escape his intoxicating scent. Thanks to the faint kitchen light that she and Delilah always left on, she noticed his shirt was a baby blue shade, so tight around his muscles she had no trouble imagining the smooth skin underneath.

She chewed on her tongue, recollecting his bare shoulders and torso during their video-chats, and grabbed the edge of the counter to stabilize herself.

He continued his approach, undeterred. "I'm not leaving."

Her breaths became choppy, anxious. "Ryan," she again shifted away from him, needing space, distance, "you can't be here."

"How was the contest?"

She was stunned by his complete ignorance of her orders, his defiance as he leaned into the counter as if they were catching up at a bar.

"Seriously?" She crossed her arms and clicked her tongue. "So now you're just going to try some casual conversation?"

"Might as well." He cocked his head, and the beginnings of a smirk formed over his mouth. "If it helps you get comfortable."

"Comfortable?" She scoffed, and, seeking something to protect herself, something to hold on to, she reached for a bottle of wine at the end of the countertop—though whether to brandish it at him as a weapon, or to open it and chug half of it in one go, she wasn't certain.

"You're nervous, that's why you keep pushing me away." His voice lowered, and Coralie viewed his arms swaying at his sides, his body slouching against the counter. "That, or you aren't as attracted to me as you claimed."

"I..." She decided the alcohol was for drinking, not hitting, and moved to the other side of the kitchen to tug a drawer open and extract a bottle opener. "I am attracted. Don't be stupid. I wouldn't fake that. But that's not the problem." She plugged the pointed end into the cork, twisted, pulled, and sniffed at the fruity bitterness within. "I explained to you what the issue was, but it's clear you didn't listen."

"I did listen." He winced, rubbing at the stubble on his chin. "But what you said tonight didn't match what you said on the phone. It didn't match your attitude in London. It didn't match you." His gaze was unfocused, his legs jittery as he tried to steady himself. "You didn't care about my situation before, and suddenly, you do?"

Unwilling to expose her backside to him, she fetched two glasses that were drying next to the sink, where she could monitor him and his movements.

"I always cared," she said, remembering the times they spoke of Gemma and his daughters. "But I had time to think. London put things into perspective for me."

She poured herself a glass, took a few sips, then hesitated; should she pour some for Ryan, too? Clearly this conversation wouldn't be an easy one, and though she didn't want him to stay, she also didn't want him leaving thinking she hated him. She didn't, not fully.

So she swirled more of the delicious liquid into the other cup and set it on the counter. She pushed it in Ryan's direction—no way would she hand it to him directly. That would mean coming into contact with his hand, and she couldn't have that.

He retrieved the drink and gaped into it. "So you no longer care for me? No longer want me? You don't consent to me being here? Because I thought you would, and if we got our signals crossed..."

She'd been slouching, but his words jolted her to an upright position. "I always consented. Still do. You're not taking advantage." She gulped. "And I do care, I want you, but we... we can't. We can't."

After a few moments of silence, he rolled his shoulders and straightened up. "Fine, so then answer me—how was the contest?" He lifted his glass. "Santé."

She shook—he spoke fluent French, and every time he expressed himself in that language she lost control of her limbs.

"I won. Meaning I'll be performing there every Friday night for a year, with my songs." She turned away from him, needing to disconnect from the sight of him, if only for a few seconds. To look at him woke too many sensations inside that she had no power over; and to see him beaming at her in pride would topple her over the edge.

As she'd expected, he meandered up behind her and slid one arm around her, under her armpit. Still clutching his cup, he squeezed her.

"I'm so proud of you."

She felt his body against hers, and it took all her energy to not shoot around and drop her cup and get on her tip-toes to kiss him.

Every inch of him collided with every inch of her as he gripped her harder, his breath brushing over her scalp and scattering shivers down her temples, her cheeks, her neck.

How she craved to slide her hands down his chest, to unbuckle his belt, to shrug his pants off—

"Thank you," she said, sneaking out of his embrace and pivoting to him as she inched backwards, realizing too late that in this position, she'd soon hit a wall and be stuck with no escape.

He raised his glass again. "Cheers." She raised her glass, too, and their gazes met. "To wins and reunions."

They sipped quietly, shifting their feet, taking turns staring at one another while the other wasn't looking.

The tension in the little space between them, the atmosphere charged with repressed desire, was driving Coralie crazy. She either needed to ask him to go, or handle the consequences if she allowed him to stay.

And the part of her wanting to throw caution to the wind was slowly winning the debate in her mind. The wine was loosening her up, re-opening her thoughts to the idea of giving in to him.

Fuck. What happened to your resolve, Cora?

"Ryan," she huffed, "why are you here, for real? I told you we couldn't do this. You love your wife, your kids. You shouldn't be with me, shouldn't be sacrificing what you have for... this."

She took another swig of wine, and a slight fog blurred her vision as the alcohol's effects kicked in.

He downed the rest of his drink and set the glass on the counter. Rolling up his sleeves, he stepped towards her. She was cornered, as expected; imprisoned between the counter, the fridge, and the wall behind her. The only way out would be to run around him, but he'd grab her before she could even try.

And in truth... she wasn't sure she wanted to rush off. She wasn't sure she wanted to hold back anymore, if she wanted to stop their attraction from playing out.

What would happen if she didn't move, if she didn't resist him?

"Yes, I love them with all my heart. But..." He stuck one hand into his pocket, the other gliding over his short curls. "I think I settled. It was you I always wanted."

Coralie's fist clenched, and she kept the glass near her torso, as if it would protect her should he get too close. "Ryan—"

"—and this... this is our second chance, isn't it? You promised me we would see each other."

Her grasp on the cup tightened, and she worried she'd shatter the glass and spill the burgundy beverage all over herself. Which would force her to take her top off, and that would only amplify the electricity in the air.

"We did see each other! In London! Have you already forgotten?" She heard a tiny tint of her former British accent coming out and almost giggled; but she quickly stopped herself, as any trace of a smile would encourage Ryan.

He pursued his path to her, slow and steady. "Oh please, don't get smart with me." He winked. "No matter how hot that is."

She thrust her arm out, hoping to stop him. The motion sent a few droplets of wine to spill over the rim of the cup, dropping onto her bare feet.

"Don't come closer."

"We saw each other for five minutes." He didn't let her outstretched palm intercept him, and instead pressed into it, testing her strength as he had earlier with the door.

And despite her urge to shove him, to dig her nails into his skin and scratch him until he backed off, she couldn't. With each inch he removed from the distance between them, her magnetic pull towards him grew stronger. She smelled the lust in his aura, she imagined the taste of him—and she wanted to taste him.

She was losing her willpower to listen to her instincts, to obey her conscience. Losing the fight against the manifestation of her deepest desires.

Shit, shit, shit!

"It didn't end the way I'd hoped. The way you hoped, I'm certain. Don't tell me your abrupt running away was what you'd planned?" He shook his head and wrapped his fingers around her arm, moving it aside. The instant he touched her, her muscles melted and her bones broke and her resolve shattered. Everything about him drew her in, sucked her closer and closer to spiraling into a black hole she'd tried so hard to avoid.

"No," she managed, gulping, unsure what to do with her wine. If she put it down, she'd be giving him an opening; but if she held on to it, she'd end up dropping it when he came too close, when his charm finally got the best of her.

"I'd pictured a steamy kiss, a make-out session in the elevator taking us to the hotel room I booked. A night of torrid love-making—"

"—wait." She arched her back against the wall and squinted at him. "Hotel room. You booked us a hotel room that night?" One side of her brain screamed at her to slap him for assuming he'd get her to bed; the other was squealing in delight that he'd been so prepared.

"Of course." His tongue twitched over his lips, and her knees buckled. "The Rosewood, above Scarfes."

"Oh my God." The Rosewood was one of the most prestigious, luxurious, out-of-price hotels in London, and she'd more than once dreamed of staying there. The notion of spending a night in a suite with Ryan prompted her lower abdomen to awaken, her pants to feel too tight, her heart to flutter a little too quickly in her rib-cage. "You booked a room at the Rosewood. Wow."

"Yeah." He scratched at his jawline as he dared another small step forward. "See what you missed out on? How many scenarios did we talk about, hm? How many do you think we could have reenacted in one night?"

Scenarios. Shit, he remembered them?

In several of their video-chats, they'd conversed about what they'd do to each other. Bathtub snuggles that turned steamy, showers that fogged up mirrors and left puddles of water all over marble floors, bedsheets thrown all over the furniture, pillows jammed into faces to muffle screams. Coralie had imagined the different outfits she'd wear, the lingerie she'd seduce him with. Ryan had pictured all the ways he'd rip them all off her. They'd confessed what they liked, what they wanted to try, what they'd done in the past that had always aroused them.

"Well," he glanced left and right, scanning the area, "I guess this moderate-sized apartment will have to do."

Only the wine glass separated their bodies now, and Coralie still brandished it in front of her, just in case.

He brushed a few hairs from her forehead, biting his lower lip. "Cora."

She had no doubt her lip-stain had smeared from the making-out with Michael, and that her locks had tangled, turning frizzy and messy, and her mascara had run, leaving charcoal smears under her eyes. But if she looked as horrifying as she felt on the inside, Ryan didn't seem bothered by it. If anything, he seemed turned on the longer he gazed at her, drinking in every detail of her face, capturing her to memory, visualizing how many times he might make her scream in one sitting.

"Ryan." She swallowed, and though she trembled, she slid her arm out to put the glass on the counter. "RyRy." Her body was on fire, passion building up so fast in her core that she couldn't take it.

It was too late to refuse him, too late to say no. She didn't want to say no, she never had. And if she did so now, the regret would overflow, drowning her. She'd never get over it.

With him so close, her conscience had no choice but to shut up and let her make her own decisions.

"Cora?" His fingertips danced across her chin, and tremors tickled down her spine.

"You realize what is happening?" She shuddered as his fingers moved from her jaw to her neck, leaving tiny jolts in their wake. Her chest poked out as her breaths sped up, and the ardor fizzling in her veins prompted her to lick her lips. "You realize that the second we do this, the second we," she inhaled his delicious cologne, "kiss, this becomes an affair? You'd be cheating on your wife?"

His mouth had somehow snuck closer, and was grazing near her temple. "Uh huh."

"And you..." She wriggled about as his fingertips had found the sweet spot between her neck and collarbone. "You understand it's not my fault? That I take no responsibility for this?"

His lips traced from her temples to her lower cheeks. "It's an illicit adventure. An affair. Yes, I'm aware."

The tips of their noses touched, and his gaze poured into hers, filling her with heat, with a scorching ache for him. An urgent need to grab him, mold into him, to trail her mouth over every muscle and devour him.

"I know what I'm doing," he said, his alcohol breath whooshing over her lips, waking her appetite for him. "And I know what I want. And that's you."

Any of her earlier hesitation dissipated as if it had never existed. "Fuck."

She leaned up, he tilted down, and their lips met at last. Soft, slippery, coated with a faint aroma of red wine. His tongue captured hers and waltzed with it to a rhythm so intense, so infuriatingly perfect, her extremities became limp and her belly loaded with drunken butterflies.

She sensed the wetness in her underwear almost immediately and sensed his bulge tightening against her as he continued to lead their naughty tongues into a dangerous dance.

She could have swornfireworks took off somewhere in the distance outside her apartment.

♥♥♥