Chapter 7

The neon hum of the bowling alley had faded into a dull, rhythmic thrumming in my ears, replaced now by the soft, steady rise and fall of his chest against my back. I blinked open my eyes, the sticky sweetness of the early morning light filtering through the half-drawn blinds of the suite at the event center. It wasn’t our home, not really, but it was ours for the night. The air still held the faint, metallic scent of shoe polish and old beer, mixed with the musk of his cologne—sandalwood and something darker, something that always made my knees weak. I shifted slightly, wincing as a pleasant ache radiated from my hips. We hadn’t just crashed here; we had been dragged here, breathless and desperate, after the final frame of the charity tournament. I remembered the thrill of the strike, the roar of the crowd, and then his hand sliding up the back of my dress, his lips finding the sensitive spot beneath my ear. We hadn’t even made it to the car. We’d stumbled into the nearest private suite, the door clicking shut on the world, leaving us to navigate the tangled web of our taboo desire in