CHAPTER FOURTEEN
LUNA
The descent began with a subtle shift, a tightening in the air that pressed lightly against my ears. The private jet dipped through a stack of pale clouds, each one flashing across the windows like torn silk. The engines softened into a lower hum. The seatbelt light blinked on.
We were landing.
My stomach rolled with the motion, part altitude, part dread. The world outside was no longer endless blue; a city now stretched beneath us, framed by rolling hills and streets lined with silver-green oaks. San José. His territory.
Riley stretched lazily beside me, as if the pressure change was nothing more than background music. His knee brushed mine again. The contact felt intentional, even if he pretended it wasn’t.
“You’re quiet,” he murmured without looking at me.
“I’m tired.”
“Liar.”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My pulse was still recovering from the moment he’d hijacked my phone. My skin still prickled with leftover panic.
The jet angled lower, wings shivering slightly as we passed through another cloudbank.
And then…
My phone buzzed.
Once.
Twice.
Then again.
Three messages in rapid succession. A chorus of disaster.
My breath hitched.
Not now. Not when his eyes were already on me.
I tried, really tried, to pretend it was nothing.
But Riley’s head turned instantly, predator-sharp.
“Your friends are enthusiastic,” he said, lips curving. “Answer them.”
“I’ll do it later.”
“No,” he said gently, the word soft enough to chill bone. “Now.”
The jet touched down then, tires meeting the runway with a heavy, final thud. The cabin vibrated. The engines reversed with a roar. My heart hammered unevenly inside the noise.
We were trapped in our seats as we slowed. No escape, no space, no witnesses.
“Give me your phone, Luna.” He said it like it was nothing. Like it was inevitable.
“I’m not giving you—“
He reached over and unbuckled my belt with one flick of his fingers.
I froze.
His hand brushed my hip. Warm. Firm. Inescapable.
The jet rolled to a slower crawl.
“You’ll show me,” he murmured, leaning close enough that his breath skated along my jaw. “Or I’ll take it.”
I swallowed hard.
He waited.
The plane stopped. A soft chime rang. The flight attendant appeared at the front of the cabin, readying the door.
Everyone could see us now. But they weren’t looking. Or wouldn’t look. Loyalty, or fear, or habit. Whatever it was, it left me alone.
My fingers trembled as I picked up the phone.
I stood. Or tried to. My knees wobbled.
Riley rose behind me, close enough that his chest brushed my back. His presence thickened the air.
We walked down the narrow aisle together, his steps unhurried, mine unsteady. He didn’t touch me. He didn’t have to. The proximity was a tether around my ribs.
At the door, the stairs waited. Hot airport air wafted in, thick and dry compared to the cool cabin.
My phone buzzed again.
Riley leaned in, voice a razor kiss against my ear. “Show me.”
I should have said no.
I should have fought.
But the messages, the stranger, the risk, I couldn’t let him see those.
So I opened the group chat instead.
Three new messages blinked onscreen.
Riley chuckled softly behind me.
The sound slid down my spine like warm oil.
My thumb barely moved before his hand settled lightly on my hip.
Possessive.
Casual.
Unhideable.
His body pressed closer behind mine, tall enough to look over my shoulder and read the screen without effort.
Every exhale of his brushed the back of my neck.
“Read it out loud.”
My throat tightened. “Why?”
“Because I want to hear the truth in your voice.”
Heat burned across my cheeks. I felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with skin.
My voice dropped to a whisper.
Sienna: It means a lot when you think he’s hot
Chiara: I FOUND HIS INSTA AND OMG OMG OMG
Sienna: On a scale of 1 to destroy-my-life how bad is your new situation???
Riley’s fingers flexed on my hip.
His breath darkened with a low, pleased note.
“They’re perceptive,” he murmured.
I swallowed. “Let go of me.”
“No.”
The airport sunlight flashed across his jaw as we stepped onto the stairs. His grip guided me down each step, gentle enough that no one watching would think anything was wrong. Firm enough that I couldn’t pretend it wasn’t.
At the bottom, a sleek black SUV waited, engine running. A driver stood beside it, posture straight, gaze lowered.
Waiting for him.
Waiting for us.
Riley leaned in, lips grazing the shell of my ear.
“Now,” he whispered, “tell your friends how bad your situation really is.”
The heat rising off the San José tarmac shimmered around us, warm but not suffocating, the kind of dry California heat that settled into clothing and clung to skin. The jet behind us gleamed under the sunlight, expensive and silent now, like a secret about to be locked away.
The driver straightened when Riley appeared at my back, his hand still resting on my hip as though he were guiding me.
“Mr. Maddox,” the driver said with a deferential nod. “Car’s ready. Straight to Palo Alto?”
Riley answered as if he always gave instructions, never received them. “Yes.”
Then, with a slight pressure of his fingers at my waist, he walked me forward.
The movement jolted me. I stumbled, barely, but enough that his hand slid from my hip to the small of my back. His palm burned through the thin fabric covering me.
“Careful, Luna,” he murmured.
I hated the way my name sounded in his voice, low, warm, knowing. Like he was learning how to use it against me.
I tried to step out of his touch.
He didn’t let me.
My phone buzzed again.
I tensed.
Riley felt it.
“Answer them,” he said.
The driver opened the rear door for us. The SUV’s interior was cool and shadowed, the leather seats pristine. It smelled faintly of eucalyptus and something sharp, maybe the driver’s cologne.
I hesitated.
Riley didn’t.
His hand pressed lightly between my shoulder blades, not rough but unmistakably commanding, guiding me into the back seat. I slid across the leather. He followed, closing the door behind him. The sound was soft but final, like a lock turning.
The driver loaded our suitcases, then got into the front seat and pulled away from the tarmac, merging onto the private airport exit road. The Bay Area skyline hovered pale and distant, the Santa Cruz Mountains a hazy blue smudge beyond it.
Riley sat beside me but the distance was deceptive; his thigh brushed mine with every turn the car made. The space felt smaller with him inside it, compressed, heated, dangerous.
My phone buzzed again.
Chiara: LULU WHAT IS HAPPENINGGGG
Sienna: Tell us everything rn or I’m coming to your house myself.
Riley’s voice broke the tense silence.
“Read it.”
“No.” My voice was too thin. “They’re being… dramatic.”
“They’re being your friends,” he corrected. “And I asked you to read it.”
I stared straight ahead at the headrest, pulse thudding in my throat. “I don’t—“
“Read it.” His fingers brushed a strand of hair off my shoulder. A deceptively gentle touch.
The SUV slowed at a light near the airport exit. The car idled quietly. The world outside kept moving, traffic, palm trees, planes, but inside the SUV everything felt still, airless.
“They’re asking what’s going on.” I swallowed hard and whispered, “They want me to answer their questions.”
Riley read the panic on my face instantly. “Don’t even think about ignoring them.”
“I wasn’t going to,” I lied.
“You were.” His voice dipped low, quiet enough that the driver wouldn’t hear, sharp enough that I couldn’t pretend I misunderstood. “Answer.”
“They’re being ridiculous.”
“They’re asking about me.” His eyes slid to the screen, then to me. “I want to know what you tell them.”
“No,” I whispered. “That’s… personal.”
Riley’s hand moved, sliding to my waist. His fingers pressed lightly into my side, just enough for my breath to hitch.
“Luna.”
My name in his voice sounded like a claim.
“Answer your friends.”
I swallowed. “What do you want me to say?”
“The truth.”
The SUV turned onto 101 North. The engine hummed. Palo Alto shimmered somewhere ahead, rich and safe and utterly wrong for the way my pulse was behaving.
My phone buzzed again.
Chiara: YOU CAN’T LEAVE US ON READ WHEN YOUR LIFE JUST TURNED INTO A SOAP OPERA.
Sienna: HOW BAD IS IT, LULU???
Heat climbed my cheeks.
Riley saw it, of course. His mouth curved—the kind of slow, dangerous smile that made something inside me tighten.
“Tell them,” he murmured, “exactly what you think.”
“I’m not telling them you’re—“
He leaned in before I could finish. Too close. His lips brushed my jaw, not a kiss, not even an attempt, but the proximity lit every nerve in my body.
My voice broke. “Riley—“
“Be honest with them.” His lips trailed up my jaw, stopping at my ear. His hand at my waist tightened just slightly, enough to pin me in place. “Be honest with yourself.”
My fingers trembled around the phone.
“Tell them how bad it is. How I make your pulse stutter every time I’m close to you.”
I froze.
He waited.
The driver kept his eyes on the road, oblivious. Or pretending to be.
Riley’s hand slid around my hip, fingers splayed, not squeezing but claiming space there. His breath ghosted the back of my neck.
I typed.
Very slowly.
It’s…
My heart hammered.
It’s torture.
I stared at the words, mortified.
Riley’s lips brushed the edge of my ear, not quite a touch, but so close my whole body reacted anyway.
“You can do better than that,” he whispered.
My breath hitched. “What else am I supposed to say?”
“Whatever else you’re thinking.”
My pulse skittered. “Riley…”
“Say it.”
I forced my shaking fingers to keep typing.
And complicated.
I hesitated.
Riley waited, silent, watching me, closely, intensely.
And I don’t know what to do about it.
I hit send before he could stop me.
The message whooshed out.
Riley’s exhale was soft.
He didn’t move his hand.
“That attempt was pathetic,” he murmured.
My phone buzzed immediately.
Sienna: GIRL. GIRL. GIRL.