The word hangs between us like a lit match dropped into gasoline.

Stay.

For one heartbeat, two, Cade doesn't move. His thumb is still tracing the curve of my cheekbone, his storm-gray eyes searching mine for something—permission, maybe, or proof that I'm real.

Then he's kissing me, and the world catches fire.

It's not gentle. Nothing about Cade Mercer has ever been gentle, and I don't want gentle right now. I want to burn. I want to forget that I drove three hours to surprise a boyfriend who couldn't be bothered to remember our anniversary. I want to stop being the good girl who plans everything, who never makes waves, who's spent two years waiting for Evan to look at me the way his brother is looking at me right now.

Like I'm something worth destroying himself for.

Cade's hands frame my face, tilting my head back as he deepens the kiss. He tastes like whiskey and something darker, something that makes my knees go weak. I grab his shirt for balance and he makes a sound low in his throat that I feel in my bones.

"Sloane." My name is a prayer and a curse on his lips. "We can't—"

"Don't." I pull him closer, rising on my toes to chase his mouth. "Don't think. Don't stop."

His laugh is ragged. "You're killing me."

"Good."

That breaks something in him. His hands slide into my hair, scattering pins across the kitchen floor as he kisses me like a drowning man finding air. I should feel guilty. I should be thinking about Evan, about what this means, about all the ways this will detonate my carefully constructed life.

Instead, I'm thinking about how Cade's hands are shaking as they move down my sides. How his breath catches when I bite his lower lip. How he's looking at me like I'm both salvation and damnation, and he can't decide which one he wants more.

"Upstairs," he murmurs against my mouth. "If we're doing this—"

"We're doing this."

He pulls back just far enough to meet my eyes. His pupils are blown wide, his breathing harsh. "This is a mistake."

"I know."

"It's going to fuck everything up."

"I know."

"I don't care." His voice drops to something raw and honest. "I've wanted you since the first time Evan brought you home. Spent two years hating myself for it. And now you're here and you're asking me to stay and I—Christ, Sloane. I'm not strong enough to walk away."

The confession should terrify me. Instead, it makes something wild and reckless unfurl in my chest.

"Then don't."

He lifts me like I weigh nothing, and I wrap my legs around his waist as he carries me toward the stairs. The smoke detector is screaming about the forgotten steaks, but neither of us cares. His mouth finds my throat and I arch into him, my fingers tangling in his too-long hair.

We barely make it to the bedroom.

Cade kicks the door shut behind us and sets me down, his hands already working at the buttons of my blouse. "Tell me to stop."

"No."

"Sloane—"

"I want this." I grab his shirt and yank it over his head, my breath catching at the expanse of scarred muscle revealed. "I want you."

His eyes go molten. Then his mouth is on mine again and we're stumbling toward the bed, shedding clothes in a graceless tangle of limbs and desperation. When he lays me down on the mattress, he hovers over me for a moment, just looking.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he says, and there's something almost agonized in his voice. "Too good for me. Too good for either of us."

I pull him down to me, done with talking. "Shut up and touch me."

He does.

God, he does.

---

Cade touches me like I'm made of light and shadow, something precious and forbidden all at once. His hands map every inch of my skin with a reverence that makes my throat tight. When I reach for him, trying to speed things up, he catches my wrists and pins them gently above my head.

"Slow," he murmurs against my collarbone. "I've waited two years for this. I'm not rushing."

"Cade—"

His mouth trails lower and my protest dies in a gasp. He takes his time, learning what makes me shiver, what makes me arch into his touch. It's intense and overwhelming and nothing like what I'm used to. Evan is efficient in bed, focused on the destination rather than the journey.

Cade makes love like he's trying to memorize me.

When he finally moves inside me, his forehead pressed to mine, I feel it everywhere. Not just the physical connection, though that's intense enough to make me dig my nails into his shoulders. But something deeper, something that terrifies me even as I chase it.

"Look at me," he commands, his voice wrecked. "I want to see you."

I open my eyes and find him watching me with an intensity that steals my breath. His jaw is clenched, his arms trembling with the effort of holding back. There's something almost tortured in his expression, like this is heaven and hell all at once.

"Cade." His name falls from my lips like a benediction.

He groans and drops his head to my shoulder, his hips moving faster. "Say it again."

"Cade."

"Fuck." He's losing control, I can feel it in the tension coiling through his body. "Sloane, I—"

Whatever he was going to say gets lost as I fall apart beneath him, my vision whiting out as pleasure crashes through me in waves. He follows seconds later, my name a broken sound against my skin.

For a long moment, we just breathe.

Then reality starts creeping back in.

---

Cade pulls away first.

Not physically—not yet. But I feel him retreat anyway, some essential warmth draining from his expression as he rolls onto his back beside me.

"Shit," he says to the ceiling.

My heart, still racing from what we just did, starts to sink. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't do this. Don't make it—" I swallow hard. "Don't ruin it."

He turns his head to look at me, and the guilt in his eyes is like a knife between my ribs. "Sloane. We just—I just fucked my brother's girlfriend."

The words are a slap. I sit up, pulling the sheet with me. "I'm aware."

"Are you?" He sits up too, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "Because this is—Christ. This is the worst thing I've ever done."

Something cold and humiliated unfurls in my chest. "Wow. Don't hold back, tell me how you really feel."

"That's not what I meant—"

"No, I get it." I'm already moving, searching for my scattered clothes in the dim room. "This was a mistake. You've made that abundantly clear."

He catches my wrist. "Sloane, wait—"

"Let go of me."

"Just—fuck. Just listen for a second." His grip gentles but doesn't release. "This isn't about you. You're—you're incredible. What we just did was—" He breaks off, his jaw working. "But Evan is my brother. And you're his, and I just—"

"I'm his what, exactly?" The anger feels safer than the hurt trying to claw its way up my throat. "His girlfriend? His property? What?"

"That's not what I'm saying."

"Then what are you saying?" I yank my wrist free and grab my blouse from the floor. "Because from where I'm standing, it sounds like you got what you wanted and now you're having a crisis of conscience."

"I'm saying this can't happen again." His voice is flat now, all the heat from earlier extinguished. "I'm leaving tomorrow anyway. Going back to the rigs. This was—it was one night. It has to be one night."

The dismissal in his tone makes me want to scream. Or cry. Or both.

Instead, I button my blouse with shaking hands and lift my chin. "Don't worry. I wouldn't dream of asking for more from the great Cade Mercer. God forbid you actually have to deal with the consequences of your actions."

"That's not fair."

"Fair?" I laugh, and it sounds broken even to my own ears. "You want to talk about fair? You just told me you've wanted me for two years. You touched me like—" My voice cracks and I hate myself for it. "And now you're looking at me like I'm something you need to wash off."

"Sloane—"

"Save it." I find my jeans and yank them on, not caring that I'm still missing my bra. I just need to get out of this room, away from the bed that still smells like sex and cedar and the biggest mistake of my life. "This was a mistake. You're right. We never should have—"

I can't finish the sentence. Can't acknowledge what we just did, what it meant, what it's going to cost.

Cade stands, pulling on his jeans. Even now, even furious and humiliated, I can't help but notice the way he moves. Predatory grace, all coiled power and barely leashed violence. He's beautiful in a dangerous way, and I'm an idiot for ever thinking I could touch that fire and not get burned.

"I'm sorry," he says, and he actually sounds like he means it. "I never should have—"

"Yeah, well. Join the club." I locate my shoes and shove my feet into them. "We both made choices tonight. We both have to live with them."

"What are you going to tell Evan?"

The question stops me cold. What am I going to tell Evan? That I drove up here to surprise him and ended up in bed with his brother instead? That I've been lying to myself about what I want, who I want, for God knows how long?

That I just blew up my entire life for one night with a man who can't even look at me without flinching?

"I don't know," I say honestly. "But that's my problem, not yours. You've made it pretty clear where you stand."

I head for the door, needing to escape before the tears threatening to spill actually fall. I won't give him that. Won't let him see how much this hurts.

His voice stops me at the threshold. "Sloane."

I don't turn around. "What."

"For what it's worth—" He pauses, and I hear him exhale. "It wasn't just sex. Not for me."

The confession should make me feel better.

It doesn't.

"Yeah, well." I force myself to look back at him, to meet those storm-gray eyes one last time. "It wasn't for me either. Which is exactly why this can never happen again."

I walk out before he can respond.

---

I don't sleep.

I lie on the couch downstairs, still dressed, staring at the ceiling and replaying every moment of the past few hours. The whiskey. The confession. The way Cade touched me like I was something worth savoring. The devastating guilt in his eyes afterward.

The smoke detector finally stopped screaming around midnight. The steaks are definitely ruined. Everything is ruined.

What the fuck did I just do?

I've been with Evan for two years. Two stable, predictable, safe years. He's good to me. He's building a future. He's everything I should want after growing up in chaos, bouncing between my mom's string of shitty boyfriends and foster homes when she couldn't keep it together.

Evan represents security. A plan. A life that makes sense.

And I just threw it all away for one reckless night with his brother.

Except it wasn't just reckless. It wasn't just physical. Cade was right—it was more than sex. It was connection, raw and honest and terrifying. It was the first time in my carefully controlled life that I let myself feel something without planning for it, managing it, containing it.

And look where that got me.

I check my phone for the hundredth time. No messages from Evan. He's probably still at whatever business dinner kept him from our anniversary. Probably hasn't even noticed I'm not answering his calls.

The thought should make me angry.

Instead, it just makes me tired.

Around four in the morning, I hear footsteps on the stairs. My whole body goes rigid, but Cade doesn't come into the living room. I hear the front door open and close. An engine starts. Gravel crunches under tires.

He's leaving.

Good. That's—that's good. Better if I don't have to see him again, don't have to navigate the morning-after awkwardness on top of everything else.

So why does it feel like my chest is caving in?

I wait until I'm sure he's gone, then force myself off the couch. My body aches in unfamiliar places, physical reminders of what we did. I find my bra wedged between the couch cushions—Jesus, how did it even get down here?—and try to make myself presentable.

I look like hell. Hair a tangled mess, mascara smudged, a mark on my throat that's definitely going to bruise. Evidence of my spectacular self-destruction written all over my skin.

I need to go home. Need to figure out what I'm going to say to Evan. Need to—

My phone buzzes with a text.

Evan: Sorry about last night. Dinner ran late. Make it up to you this weekend?

The casual dismissal of our anniversary, the assumption that I'll just be fine with him blowing me off—it should piss me off.

Instead, all I feel is crushing guilt.

Because I don't get to be angry. Not anymore. Not after what I did.

I grab my purse and my keys, taking one last look at the lake house. The scene of the crime. The place where I destroyed everything.

Then I walk out and don't look back.

---

The drive home is a blur. I stop once to throw up on the side of the road, my body finally catching up with the emotional devastation. By the time I pull into my apartment complex, the sun is rising and I feel like a stranger in my own skin.

I need a shower. Need to wash away the scent of cedar and smoke and regret.

Need to figure out how to face Evan.

I'm unlocking my door when my phone rings. Evan's name flashes on the screen.

I stare at it for three rings before answering. "Hey."

"There you are." He sounds cheerful, oblivious. "Where were you? I tried calling last night."

"I—" The lie catches in my throat. "I went to the lake house."

"Oh yeah? How was it?"

How was it. How was destroying our relationship and sleeping with your brother and having the best and worst night of my life?

"Fine," I hear myself say. "It was fine."

"Cool. Listen, I know I bailed on our anniversary, but I'm thinking we could do something tonight instead? That Italian place you like?"

He's trying. In his way, he's trying.

And I'm a monster.

"Actually, Evan—" I swallow hard. "Can you come over? We need to talk."

A pause. "That sounds ominous."

"Just—please. Can you come over?"

"Yeah. Yeah, of course. Give me an hour?"

"Okay."

I hang up and lean against my door, my legs finally giving out. I slide down to sit on the floor, my head in my hands.

An hour. I have one hour to figure out how to end a two-year relationship without explaining why. One hour to practice saying the words that will break a good man's heart.

One hour before my reckless night turns into scorched earth.

I close my eyes and try to breathe through the panic clawing at my throat.

And I can still smell cedar on my skin.