Mia had never wanted someone like this before.


    Not just in the way a woman might admire a man—though, help her, Ronan was breathtaking. It was beyond that. It was the way his presence filled the room, the way his voice settled in her bones, the way she felt drawn to him as if he were gravity itself.


    And it was dangerous.


    Because she was falling.


    She realized it in slow, excruciating degrees, each moment a new weight pressing into her chest.


    It was in the way she watched him when he wasn’t looking—when he was standing at the edge of the porch, shoulders tense, scanning the tree line with a quiet intensity that made her feel safer than she had in years.


    It was in the way her pulse quickened when he touched her—small, fleeting moments, like when his fingers brushed against her wrist as he passed her something, or when he tugged a blanket over her while she dozed on the couch, thinking she wouldn’t notice.


    It was in the way she ached for him at night, staring at the ceiling in the dark, body thrumming with something she didn’t know how to name.


    Ronan was unlike any man she had ever known.


    He was quiet strength, sharp intelligence, unwavering control. But underneath it, she sensed something else—something raw, something caged. It was in the way his jaw clenched when he looked at her too long, in the way he always seemed to hold himself back.


    And Mia wanted to know what it would feel like if he didn’t.


    She wanted him.


    Like nothing else.


    Like her body had been built for his, like every moment between them was a countdown to something inevitable.


    It was maddening.


    Especially because Ronan refused to cross that line.


    She could feel it, the way he kept a careful distance, as if afraid of what would happen if he let himself get too close.


    But he wasn’t the only one fighting this.


    Mia had spent weeks trying to ignore the way her body reacted to him. The way her breath caught whenever he rolled up his sleeves, exposing forearms corded with muscle and dusted with faint scars. The way his voice did something dark and shivery to her when it dipped into that low, quiet register.


    The way she felt when he was near—like something inside her recognized him.


    And gods, that terrified her more than anything.


    Because she had lost too much already.


    And Ronan… he felt like something she couldn’t afford to lose.


    But tonight, she didn’t care about fear.


    Tonight, she just wanted him.


    Mia stood in the doorway of the cabin, watching him from the shadows.


    Ronan was shirtless.


    The sight of him nearly stole the breath from her lungs.


    He stood by the fireplace, a towel slung around his neck, his skin damp from a quick wash. Firelight flickered over him, casting gold against the ridges of muscle along his back, the curve of his shoulders, the deep cut of his abdomen.


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    Mia swallowed hard.


    How was it fair for a man to look like that?


    She had seen him without a shirt before—had seen him shift, had seen his body move with effortless, lethal grace. But something about this moment felt different.


    More intimate.


    His head was tilted downward, fingers combing through his dark hair as he exhaled a slow breath.


    Mia licked her lips.


    Her heart hammered in her chest, a traitorous heat pooling low in her belly.


    Every rational thought told her to turn away, to retreat before she did something reckless.


    But she didn’t move.


    She couldn’t.


    Ronan must have sensed her. He always did.


    His head turned slightly, muscles tensing, his golden eyes catching hers in the firelight.


    And gods, the way he looked at her.


    Something dark flickered across his face—something unreadable, something dangerous.


    Mia knew she should say something, break the silence, make some casual joke to defuse the crackling tension between them.


    But she didn’t.


    Because suddenly, she was walking toward him.


    She didn’t think about it. Didn’t question it.


    Her body simply moved.


    Ronan straightened, his gaze tracking her, a silent warning in his posture.


    But he didn’t move away.


    Mia stopped in front of him, her breath shallow.


    "Why do you do that?" she whispered.


    His brows pulled together. "Do what?"


    "Look at me like that."


    He swallowed, his throat bobbing. "Like what?"


    "Like you want me." The words were barely audible.


    Ronan went still.


    Too still.


    Mia’s pulse roared in her ears.


    He clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "Mia."


    His voice was strained, like he was fighting himself.


    But she wasn’t letting him run from this.


    Not this time.


    "You do," she said, softer now. "Don’t you?"


    Something snapped.


    Ronan moved so fast she barely had time to gasp before her back was pressed against the wall, his body caging hers in.


    He didn’t touch her.


    But she could feel him. Heat radiated from him, from the bare skin of his chest, from the sharp rise and fall of his breath.


    Mia’s head tipped back, her heart slamming against her ribs as she looked up at him.


    Ronan’s eyes burned into hers, molten, his restraint hanging by a thread.


    "I can’t," he said hoarsely.


    But she saw the way his hands shook, saw the way his jaw tightened like it physically hurt to hold back.


    "You don’t want me?" she challenged, her voice barely steady.


    He exhaled harshly. "That’s not the problem."


    "Then what is?"


    His hands twitched against the wall on either side of her head, and he leaned in fractionally, caging her in completely.


    Mia’s breath hitched.


    Ronan was so close. Too close.


    "Don’t you get it?" he murmured. "If I start, I won’t stop."


    Her stomach tightened, heat curling low and insistent.


    "Then don’t stop," she whispered or maybe pleaded.


    A growl rumbled deep in his chest.


    Mia felt it vibrate through her, sending a thrill up her spine.


    Ronan squeezed his eyes shut, his breath ragged.


    Then, suddenly, he was gone.


    He had pulled away so fast it was dizzying, his back to her, hands on his hips as he sucked in sharp breaths.


    Mia stood frozen, pulse racing, her skin still tingling from where his heat had touched her.


    Silence stretched between them.


    When Ronan finally spoke, his voice was low, rough.


    "You should go to bed, Mia."


    Mia swallowed hard.


    She knew he was right. She knew pushing him further tonight wouldn’t end well. But as she turned away, retreating toward her room, she also knew something else.


    This wasn’t over.


    Because whatever this was between them—this heat, this gravity, this aching, desperate pull—it wasn’t something that could be ignored.