Chapter Six
F or one suspended second, the bungalow went silent.
Not truly silent. The ocean still moved beyond the windows, steady and dark. The refrigerator hummed softly from the kitchen. Somewhere outside, laughter drifted down the beach and disappeared beneath the sound of the waves.
But inside, with the door closed and Tyler standing in front of her, Hailey heard only her own heartbeat.
Fast.
Unreasonable.
Very much not interested in behaving.
Tyler’s gaze held hers in the dim light of the entryway. He had not moved since she pulled him inside. His shirt was rumpled beneath her fingers, the fabric warm from his body, his breathing controlled in a way that made her think control was costing him.
“Hailey,” he said, voice low.
She knew that tone by now.
Warning. Question. Permission.
It made something inside her ache.
“I know,” she whispered.
His eyes searched her face. “Do you?”
She did.
That was the terrifying part.
She knew exactly what she was doing. She knew she had met him two days ago. She knew she was on vacation, that he was training, that her life was waiting for her on the other side of the country with unanswered emails, impossible expectations, and a future she had been too exhausted to claim.
She knew all of that.
And still, with Tyler standing close enough for her to feel the heat of him, none of those reasons felt strong enough to make her step away.
“I know,” she said again, softer this time.
Tyler’s jaw flexed.
Then he kissed her.
The first kiss outside had been reckless, sparked by moonlight and wanting and the sheer relief of giving in. This kiss was slower. Deeper. It asked more of her. It pulled at places she had locked away beneath work, ambition, and the kind of competence that left no room for softness.
Hailey melted before she could stop herself.
Her hands slid up his chest, over the open collar of his shirt, and he made a quiet sound against her mouth, almost like restraint cracking. His fingers found her waist, not grabbing, not demanding, but holding her like he was still giving her every chance to change her mind.
She did not want to change her mind.
Not even a little.
She stepped closer, and that small movement seemed to undo him.
Tyler backed her gently against the wall beside the entryway, one hand braced near her head, the other settling at her hip.
His mouth moved over hers with a hunger that made her knees forget their primary function.
Hailey clutched at him, feeling the hard planes of his body beneath her palms, the strength that had looked so effortless on the court now focused entirely on her.
It should have overwhelmed her.
Maybe it did.
But not in the way she expected.
For months, Hailey had been overwhelmed by noise. By demands. By other people’s panic. By men who made disasters and expected her to turn them into redemption arcs by morning.
This was different.
Tyler’s attention did not take from her.
It centered her.
Every touch seemed to say, Here. You are here.
Her note came back to her in a flash.
Stay present.
She laughed breathlessly against his mouth.
Tyler pulled back at once. “What?”
“Nothing.”
His eyes narrowed, but amusement tugged at his mouth. “You keep laughing when I kiss you.”
“I do not.”
“You absolutely do.”
“I laughed once.”
“Twice.”
“The first time was because of the coffee.”
“And this time?”
Hailey looked up at him. His hair was mussed from her fingers. His lips were slightly swollen from kissing her. His eyes, those dangerous steel-blue eyes, were fixed on her like she was not a distraction from his life but the only thing in it worth noticing.
Her humor faded.
“This time,” she said quietly, “I was thinking that this is the first time in months I’ve actually been present.”
The teasing left his face.
Something softer replaced it. Something that made her feel more exposed than his hands had.
Tyler brushed his thumb along her cheek. “Good?”
Her throat tightened.
“Yes.”
He kissed her again, but this time it was painfully gentle. A slow, tender press of his mouth to hers that made her chest ache. Hailey had expected heat. She had expected want. She had not expected tenderness.
Tenderness was far more dangerous.
She pulled him closer before it could break her.
Tyler accepted the invitation with a low breath, his hands sliding around her waist as he drew her fully against him. The kiss deepened again, and Hailey let herself fall into it. Into him. Into the feel of his body, the warm scent of his skin, the steady strength of his arms.
The bungalow blurred around them.
Somehow they moved from the entryway into the living room, stumbling once when Hailey backed into the edge of the sofa. Tyler caught her before she could fall, his mouth curving against hers.
“Careful,” he murmured.
“You keep saying that.”
“You keep being a hazard.”
“I was perfectly safe before I met you.”
“That is not even a little true.”
She wanted to argue, but his mouth found the side of her neck, and every clever response dissolved into a shaky inhale.
Tyler paused immediately. “Still okay?”
The question steadied her more than anything else could have.
Hailey opened her eyes.
He was close enough that she could see the restraint in him. The effort. The fact that he wanted her badly enough for it to show and respected her enough to wait anyway.
It made her ache in places that had nothing to do with desire.
“Yes,” she said. “Still okay.”
His forehead dropped briefly against hers. “You can tell me to stop at any point.”
“I know.”
“I need you to know.”
“I do.”
He looked at her for another beat, as if making sure she meant it.
Then Hailey took his hand.
The choice felt enormous.
Not because of the bedroom. Not because of sex. Not even because of Tyler.
Because for once, she was choosing something because she wanted it.
Not because it advanced her career. Not because it solved a problem. Not because someone else needed her to be the steady one.
Only because she wanted.
She led him down the short hallway, past the little bathroom with the blue tile, past the bedroom doorway where moonlight spilled across the pale wood floor.
At the threshold, she stopped.
Tyler stopped with her.
The room looked different with him in it.
Less like a rental. Less like a place borrowed from someone else’s life.
The white sheets were still slightly rumpled from that morning.
Her suitcase sat open near the closet, sandals lined neatly beneath the hanging dresses because some habits survived even emotional collapse.
The window was cracked, letting in the salt air and the sound of waves.
Hailey suddenly felt shy.
Which was ridiculous.
She handled billionaire athletes, furious sponsors, live cameras, and men with scandal folders thicker than novels. She could stand in a room full of attorneys and make them listen.
But Tyler Von looking at her in the soft darkness made her feel like a woman who had forgotten where to put her hands.
He must have sensed the shift, because he did not touch her.
Instead, he reached for his own shirt and slowly undid the buttons.
One by one.
Hailey’s mouth went dry.
“You’re staring,” he said.
She lifted her chin. “I’m observing.”
“Professionally?”
“Critically.”
His smile flashed. “And?”
She let her eyes move over him because there was no point pretending she had not been doing exactly that since the beach.
The shirt opened over tanned skin, broad shoulders, hard chest, the lean strength of a body built by sun and sand and years of discipline.
He was beautiful in a way that should have made him arrogant.
Maybe it had, once. But standing in front of her now, shirt hanging open and vulnerability tucked behind his smile, he looked less like a fantasy and more like a man hoping he would be enough.
Hailey stepped closer.
“You’re very distracting,” she said.
His smile softened. “So are you.”
She laughed under her breath, but the sound faltered when he reached for the tie at the back of her dress.
“May I?”
The question was quiet.
Hailey nodded.
His fingers brushed her skin as he untied the bow. The touch was light, almost reverent, and it sent a shiver down her spine. The straps loosened. The dress slipped slightly, catching at her chest.
Tyler’s breathing changed.
Hailey watched his face as he looked at her—not quickly, not greedily, but with a kind of stunned appreciation that made heat bloom under her skin.
“God,” he whispered.
She swallowed. “That good or bad?”
His gaze snapped back to hers.
“Hailey.” He sounded almost offended. “There is no universe where that is bad.”
The sincerity undid her more than the compliment.
She had been desired before. Of course she had. But so often it had felt like performance. Like a transaction. Like another version of expectation she had to manage.
Tyler looked at her like she was a gift he was not sure he deserved.
She reached for him.
This time, neither of them hesitated.
The next kiss was all heat.
His shirt hit the floor. Her dress followed. They moved together in the moonlit room, hands learning, mouths searching, laughter breaking through when they bumped into the bed and Tyler nearly tripped over her sandal.
“Smooth,” she said, breathless.
“I am extremely smooth.”
“You almost died.”
“Worth it.”
She laughed, and he kissed the sound from her mouth.
By the time they reached the bed, Hailey’s thoughts had narrowed to sensation. Tyler’s skin beneath her hands. His mouth at her throat. The weight of him as he leaned over her, careful even in urgency. The way he murmured her name as if it were something he could not stop saying.
But beneath the heat, something else kept threading through.
Care.
He checked in with her. Not awkwardly. Not in a way that broke the moment. Just with his eyes, his pauses, the slight restraint of his hands until she pulled him closer. Every time she answered, every time she chose him again, the hunger between them sharpened.