Page 21 of One Night Flame

But before I could say anything, she took a half step back, misreading my pause. “I’m sorry. That was presumptuous. You’ve already gone above and beyond?—”

“Hey.” I caught her hand gently. “No. Don’t walk that back.”

I stepped in close again. Let her see it on my face, in the way I was still out of breath from her. “I want to. Ifyou’resure.”

Her gaze searched mine. Then something in her softened.

She reached behind her and turned the knob, pushing the door open. The porch light cast a warm halo around her as she backed inside, towing me with her.

EIGHT

LUCY

The door clicked open, the familiar creak of the hinges absurdly loud in the hush of the house. I stepped inside, heart pounding like I’d sprinted the length of the block, not just gone out for dinner with a man whose smile should come with a warning label.

Cord followed close behind, his warmth a presence at my back even though we weren’t touching anywhere but the hand he had wrapped around mine. I didn’t flip the lights on. Didn’t want to risk catching sight of a rogue toy or one of Liam’s crayon masterpieces tacked to the wall. I’d shoved most of it out of view before the date, but still—mood killers had a way of lurking in plain sight when you least expected them.

The hallway stretched in shadow, lit only by the glow from the streetlamp filtering through the front windows and the automatic nightlight. I moved slowly, deliberately, my fingers brushing the wall for balance more than direction.

What am I doing?

My brain offered a dozen objections:Too fast. Too soon. Too much. But none of them were loud enough to drown out the memory of his mouth on mine, or the electric hum of possibilitycurling in my stomach. I wasn’t expecting forever. Just… tonight. Something only for me.

Cord said nothing behind me, but I could feel his gaze. Felt the heat of it slide up my back, over my shoulders, down to the hem of my dress.

I’d cleaned the house in a rush. Thrown toys in baskets, wiped counters, straightened pillows like I was staging it for a showing. I sent up a silent prayer of thanks to past me. No Legos. No juice rings. No stuffed animals propped up like judgmental spectators on the couch.

Every step down the hallway tightened something inside me. Anticipation tangled with nerves. My fingers curled around the edge of the bedroom door.

This was happening. It was happening now. And I wanted it. God, I wanted it. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t shaking just a little. It had been so damned long.

Behind me, Cord waited. Quiet. Steady. Solid.

I opened the door to my bedroom, took one step in—and froze.

The shadows shifted with the hallway light behind us, painting soft lines across the bedspread. But I wasn’t looking at the lighting. I was scanning the room with the speed of someone about to be audited.

Did I clean in here?

My heart flipped.

Was there laundry on the floor? I couldn’t remember. Had I put away all those rejected outfits? Had I left that ugly sports bra on the doorknob? Were there Paw Patrol stickers on the nightstand? I’d peeled some off last week, but had definitely missed a few. The nightstand was out of view. I couldn’t risk turning on a light to check.

My pulse thundered. Confidence crumpled in on itself. The spark, the rush, the breathless thrill of the night—this was themoment I remembered I was not the kind of woman who had no-strings sex. I was the kind who found crushed Goldfish in her bra and couldn’t remember the last time she’d owned matching underwear.

I hovered in the doorway, the weight of it all pressing down on me.

Then Cord stepped up behind me.

“Lucy.” It was just my name, but the way he said it—low and rough, like he hadn’t quite caught his breath since the car ride—lit me up like a match.

He leaned in, his mouth brushing the sensitive spot just beneath my ear, then lower, to the curve of my throat. My breath hitched as his lips lingered there, warm and reverent. “You changing your mind?” His voice was a dark, delicious rasp. “It’s okay if you are.”

That undid me.

His gentleness. His patience. That ridiculous voice like warm bourbon and sin.

I turned, meeting his eyes in the dim light. “Not even a little,” I whispered, and rose up to kiss him again. It wasn’t tentative this time. This was a reclaiming, a declaration. My hands slid into his hair, my body aligning to his like we were magnets.

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