Page 35 of Prelude of Love

He ignored my deflection. “Why are you so soft with my mom? I mean, don’t get me wrong. She’s amazing. But you’re different with her.”

The question caught me off guard. “She reminds me of my mother,” I admitted, surprising myself with my honesty. “Same type of strength. Same way of seeing right through people’s bullshit while still being kind about it. My mother had that same grounding presence, where no matter what chaos was happening, she could handle it with grace.”

Chance’s expression was thoughtful as he listened. Then his lips curved into that dangerous smile. “So, how do I get you to be that sweet with me?”

“Try being less of a brat,” I shot back, grateful for the return to lighter territory.

“Speaking of being good…” He adjusted his glasses. “Do you like them? I took your advice about the Clark Kent effect.”

A growl rumbled out of me before I could stop it. “They suit you.”

He pushed the frames up his nose with one finger, the gesture somehow both innocent and deliberately seductive. “Though I have to admit, following your orders gives me all kinds of ideas about what other directions you could give me, especially in bed.”

The little tease knew what he was doing, which made it even worse. Or better. I wasn’t sure anymore. He kept pressing my buttons with deliberate precision, making me want to push back twice as hard. But that would only encourage him more, which was probably his goal all along.

With those glasses, he looked like a naughty librarian fantasy come to life. “This proves I can be very obedient when inspired.” His voice dropped to a sultry purr that made my blood run hot. “Want to see what else I’ll do if you control me?”

“I’m not interested in controlling anyone.” My tone came out sharper than intended, an edge of steel that reflected years of watching people abuse power dynamics. The sick games they played at my bar and past relationships had taught me where those lines needed to be drawn.

“Whoa.” Chance blinked, taken aback by my vehemence. The playful spark dimmed in his expression as uncertainty crept in. “All I meant is you’ve got this whole dominating vibe going on.“

“There’s a difference between being in control of a situation with consent and manipulating someone for your own benefit,” I explained, drawing from countless experiences breaking up fights between drunk assholes who didn’t understand boundaries. “I don’t play those kinds of games.” I didn't need a spoiled rock star thinking he could push my limits for his own entertainment.

“Hey.” Chance’s hand moved as if he might touch mine where it rested on the bar top, but he stopped himself. The gesture spoke volumes about his own understanding of boundaries. “I know you’re not that kind of asshole. I was just offering to let you assert your authority over me. Consensually. Enthusiastically, even.” His voice carried a note of sincerity beneath the playful tone.

I snorted, unable to hide my amusement at his persistence. “As if you’d ever obey. You’re too contrarian for that.” As I spoke, I noticed how his eyes brightened at the challenge in my words. He clearly lived for mashing people’s buttons and testing limits.

“You forget, I’ve met your husband. Now, I understand you’re the type who would be bored if I was docile and gave you everything you wanted without a fight.” He leaned closer across the bar, voice droppinglower until it was practically a caress. “Admit it. You want to hold me down for the pleasure of feeling me push back.”

I engaged before I could stop myself. “You aren’t ready for me to pin you to this bar and make you beg until you forget your own name.”

Instead of recoiling from my intensity, Chance’s pupils dilated behind those frames, turning his eyes dark with desire. “Fuck yes,” he breathed, the words coming out as a prayer. “Do that. Do exactly that. And then do more.” His tongue darted out to wet his lips, the gesture pure temptation.

I gripped the bar until the wood creaked under my fingers, wrestling with my response. The game, the chase, the tension, the way Chance gave as good as he got was all too fun. His bratty attitude was specifically designed to provoke a reaction to show him what happened to teases who pushed too far, the same as with Early. But pursuing him felt reckless and inevitable, like standing on the edge of a cliff and knowing the fall was coming whether I jumped or not.

The weight of my wedding ring pressed against me, a constant reminder of commitments and complications. Early would laugh himself silly watching me and Chance dance around each other. He’d already made it clear he found our chemistry entertaining. But taking the step from hypothetical to reality was another matter entirely.

Chance waited for my response with poorlyconcealed eagerness. His fingers drummed against the bar top, betraying his own struggle to maintain composure. The glasses made him look innocent, but the heat in his gaze told a different story.

The silence stretched between us, charged with possibility. Each second that passed ratcheted the tension higher until the air itself felt thick with unspoken desires. We were rapidly approaching a point of no return, where playful flirtation could transform into something far more dangerous.

I should shut this down. Find some excuse to walk away before we crossed lines that couldn’t be uncrossed. But Chance made me want to see how far he’d push, how much he could take. The brat in him called to the dominant alpha in me, creating an explosive chemistry that threatened to burn us both, especially when my husband was eager to stoke the fire.

Melody breezed back to her seat, taking one look at Chance’s flushed face and my amused expression before breaking into a knowing grin. “What did I miss?”

“Nothing,” Chance said a little too quickly.

“Mm-hmm.” She finished her drink and stood, tugging on Chance’s sleeve. “Come on, lover boy. Let’s leave before you spontaneously combust from sexual tension. Should we head over to Brewhaha next? It’ll give you time to work on phase two of whatever scheme you’re cooking up for them.”

Chance’s composure cracked further. “No,because that looks desperate. I don’t want to come on too strong by showing up twice in one day.”

“Since when?” Melody’s eyebrow shot up as she fixed him with a look that only mothers could perfect.

Chance protested, pushing his glasses up his nose in what I recognized as a nervous gesture. “This is—I mean, they’re…”

I couldn’t help the smirk that spread across my face. It was oddly satisfying to see the smooth-talking rock star fumble for words.

“Oh, honey.” Melody patted his hand. “You’re quite smitten for someone who claims to play it cool.”

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