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She sank back into her chair. “You planned this.”

“I wanted you to feel safe. I wanted us to have time without worrying about who might see us or what might happen. So yes, I planned it.” I brought her hand to my lips again, unable to stop myself. “I wanted tonight to be perfect for you.”

“That’s—” She shook her head. “That’s incredibly thoughtful. And slightly terrifying.”

“Why terrifying?”

“Because it means you were thinking about this. About me. Before you even asked me to dinner.”

“I’ve been thinking about you since the moment I saw you,” I admitted, my voice rough with need. “I haven’t been able to stop. I haven’t been able to think about anything else. You’ve consumed me, Madigan. Completely.”

My confession hung between us, raw and honest, and desperate. I watched her process it, watched the emotions play across her face. Surprise, fear, something that might have been hope, along with something that might have been desire.

“I’ve been thinking about you too,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t be. I know I shouldn’t be. But I can’t help it. Every time I close my eyes, I see your face. I wonder what you’re doing, if you’re thinking about me too.”

“Always,” I said. “I’m always thinking about you. Don’t fight it, Madigan. Just... let it be what it is.”

“And what is it?”

I didn’t have an answer for that. Didn’t have words for what was happening between us, for the gravity pulling us together, for the certainty that this was both the best and worst thing that had ever happened to me. For the way my heart was racing, for the way I couldn’t breathe, for the way I needed her like I needed air.

“I don’t know,” I said finally. “But I want to find out. I need to find out.”

She looked at me for a long, silent moment, and in the shifting depths of her eyes I witnessed a storm of fear tangled with longing, hope knotted with apprehension. I could almost feel the battle raging inside her, the way she teetered on the edge of surrender and restraint, knowing that to step forward meant crossing a line from which we would never return.

She hesitated, her fingers tightening around mine, and when she finally spoke, her voice trembled with the weight of everything she was holding back. “We shouldn’t... but I can’t seem to let go.” There was vulnerability in her admission, an ache in her honesty, as if she were torn between the safety of distance and the danger of wanting too much.

Then she rose, the movement gentle yet decisive, still clinging to my hand. She guided me upward, our bodies aligned by shared gravity, and in that simple gesture I felt both her uncertainty and her resolve, her choice to step into the unknown with me.

“Then don’t.” My words left my lips in a soft exhale, more confession than statement, a mere whisper of surrender to something neither of us could name but both recognized as inevitable.

“It’s dangerous.” Her eyes searched mine, wide and unguarded, as if seeking reassurance that we could survive the risk. Her warning was not just for me but for both of us, a last attempt to cling to reason, to the illusion of control.

I stepped closer, the scent of her perfume wrapping around me, soft, floral, grounding. The heat radiating from her skin drew me in, and I could feel the rapid pulse in her wrist beneath my thumb. The world shrank to the space between us, charged with anticipation. “So is life,” I whispered, as my lips brushed the shell of her ear. “And I don’t care anymore. I don’t care about the danger or the consequences or anything except being with you.” My voice was raw, stripped of all pretense, every word a declaration I could no longer contain.

For a heartbeat, doubt flickered through me. An echo of caution, a memory of the man I’d been before her. But as I looked into her eyes and saw the mirrored uncertainty and hope, certainty settled in my chest. This was real. This was ours, no matter the cost.

And at that very moment, I realized I meant every word. She had undone me completely. Had taken the careful, controlled man I had always been and shattered him into pieces. She had made me feel things I had never felt before. Made me want things I had never wanted before.

She made me vulnerable in a way that should have terrified me, but instead it felt like coming alive.

I was hers now.

Completely.

Irrevocably.

And I didn’t care what it cost me.

CHAPTER SIX

I left cash on the table and led Madigan out into the night. The air was cool, carrying the smell of rain and exhaust and the thousands of other scents that made up the streets of New York City after dark. Streetlights cast pools of amber on the wet sidewalk, reflecting in the puddles left over from an earlier storm. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed, rising and falling like a lonely cry. A few people hurried past us, heads down, shoulders hunched against the chill.

Her hand was still in mine, warm and soft, fitting perfectly against my palm.

I couldn’t let go. Didn’t want to let go. Wasn’t sure I would ever be able to let go again.

“Which way?” she asked quietly, her voice barely audible over the hum of traffic.