CH 18 - Breaking Rules
Ana didn't sleep that night.
She paced the marble floors of Hayden's penthouse, wrapped in a silk robe she'd stolen from his closet. Everything around her smelled like him—wood smoke, whiskey, danger. It clung to her skin, invading every breath she took.
And it made her furious.
Because she wanted him.
Even now.
Even after everything.
She paused in front of the tall glass windows, looking out over the glittering Roman skyline. The city didn't care about the war happening in her chest. The city just kept breathing, beautiful and cruel.
Just like him.
The door creaked open behind her, and she knew it was him before she turned.
Hayden stood in the hallway, barefoot, shirtless, his sweatpants slung low on his hips. He didn't speak. Just leaned against the wall, watching her.
His silence made her ache.
"I thought you were giving me space," she said.
"I did."
"An entire six hours?" she snapped.
He shrugged. "It felt like six years."
She turned to face him fully, arms crossed. "You don't get to want me and control me at the same time."
He stepped forward slowly. "I'm not trying to control you right now."
"No?" Her voice was sharp. "Then what is this? Another game?"
"No games, Ana." His voice was softer now. "Just you. Me. And all the things we're both too afraid to say."
She hated the way her pulse betrayed her.
"How do I know this isn't part of your plan?"
He closed the distance between them, stopping just a breath away. "Because if it were a plan, I'd be touching you already."
She swallowed hard.
"Say it," he whispered. "Say you don't want me. I'll walk away."
The air between them crackled.
She couldn't say it.
Instead, she stood on her toes and kissed him again—but this time, it wasn't out of anger. It was need. Raw, aching need.
He caught her with a groan, one hand sliding behind her neck, the other gripping her waist like he couldn't decide whether to worship her or ruin her.
Their kiss deepened, all tongue and heat, bodies pressed so tightly together that her robe fell loose. His hands explored bare skin, fingertips dragging over her spine, her hips, her thighs.
"Bed," she whispered against his mouth.
He didn't hesitate.
Hayden scooped her into his arms like she weighed nothing and carried her across the penthouse, through the dark hallway, and into his room—his sanctuary. The only place he ever truly let his guard down.
He laid her down with a reverence that almost broke her.
He hovered over her, eyes searching hers for permission. For truth.
She gave it to him in the way she pulled him down, in the way her fingers gripped his back, in the way her breath hitched as he kissed a trail down her throat to the hollow of her collarbone.
Every touch was both war and worship.
She felt him everywhere—on her skin, in her blood, in the places no one had touched before.
Their bodies moved in perfect rhythm, heat building between tangled sheets and whispered names. She wasn't sure when the hate turned to hunger. All she knew was that nothing had ever felt like this.
It wasn't just lust.
It was surrender.
By the time he collapsed beside her, breathless and wild-eyed, neither of them could speak.
Ana lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to understand what she'd just done—what they'd done.
Hayden rolled onto his side, brushing her hair away from her cheek. "Are you going to run from me again?"
She turned to meet his eyes. "Would it matter if I did?"
He smiled darkly. "Not really."
She sighed, but there was no fear in her now. No regret. Just something else entirely—something more dangerous.
"Hayden," she whispered, "what happens when I stop fighting you?"
His eyes darkened. "Then I'll finally stop pretending I don't already belong to you."