Chapter 12
Natalie stepped out of her office that night with exhaustion pressing down on her shoulders like a physical weight.
Her entire day had been a series of missteps—misplaced swatches, wrong order sheets—nothing she couldn’t fix.
But the one mistake she couldn’t repair was letting Rylan’s words worm their way into her thoughts.
Oh, it’s going to be fun making it your business.
The sentence replayed in her mind like a curse. It made her chest tighten and her stomach clench in equal measure. Worse still was the stabbing, irrational pain when she imagined him with another woman. He was too potent, too dangerous, like standing in the path of a storm with no shelter in sight.
Focus on your career, she ordered herself, pushing through the lobby’s glass doors.
The cool night air hit her first, followed by the sharp, too-loud sound of her heels on the stone walkway.
The security lights and low landscaping lamps cast long, skeletal shadows across the deserted grounds.
She tightened her grip on her tote bag, the metal jingle of her keys unnervingly loud in the stillness.
Halfway to the parking garage, a sound—low and indistinct—brushed against her ears.
Her name.
Natalie froze, her head snapping over her shoulder. The shadows stared back, empty and still.
You’re imagining it, she told herself, but her pulse didn’t listen.
The parking garage loomed ahead like the open mouth of a cave, dim pools of light doing little to cut the gloom. Her footsteps echoed sharply off the concrete, the sound chasing her.
Then—screeching tires.
The noise ricocheted through the garage, and she spun. A car burst from around the corner, headlights blazing. They weren’t just bright—they were blinding, two blazing eyes locked on her.
Her brain screamed move! but her legs wouldn’t obey. It was as if fear had nailed her to the ground. Her lungs seized, panic compressing her chest until she could barely breathe.
She calculated without meaning to: the speed, the distance.
I won’t make it.
She stumbled backward, trying to turn, but her tote bag dragged like an anchor. The engine roared, filling her ears until there was nothing else. The light devoured her vision.
And then—impact.
Not with the car.
With someone.
Strong arms slammed into her from behind, yanking her out of the path of the headlights. Her feet left the ground, the world tilting, spinning—her heart hammering in a desperate, uneven rhythm. She landed against a solid wall of heat and muscle, her breath tearing from her lungs in ragged gasps.
The scent of him hit her first—clean, sharp, male. Then the hard lines of his chest under her palms.
She forced her eyes open, blinking against the blur until his face came into focus.
Rylan.
His dark eyes locked onto hers, intense enough to pin her in place. “Are you okay?” His voice was low but edged with something fierce—like he was still coiled, ready to fight the car itself if it came back.
Her breath shuddered out, shallow and uneven. Her body still trembled with the aftershock of what had almost happened. She could feel her pulse pounding in her throat, every beat reminding her just how close she’d been to not walking away.
She swallowed, nodding weakly, unable to pull her gaze from his. The fact that he’d thrown himself between her and the oncoming car was a thought too big to process all at once—it pressed against her chest, fighting for air with the fear.
Then gratitude surged in, raw and overwhelming. And under it, something darker, hotter, that she didn’t want to name.
Her fingers lifted before she could think better of it, trembling as they brushed his cheek.
The rough scrape of stubble beneath her touch sent a shiver spiraling down her spine.
She cupped his jaw, the motion hesitant but desperate, grounding herself in the heat of him, in the proof that she was still here—still breathing—because of him.
Rylan’s expression softened, but his arms only tightened, as if he wasn’t willing to let her go just yet. The pounding rush of fear in her veins twisted into something else—just as sharp, just as consuming—only this time it wasn’t panic. It was him.
Her head tipped back almost without thought, breaths colliding in the charged space between them. The sounds of the garage faded, leaving only the rapid thud of her heart and the heat of his nearness. Then his mouth was on hers, and the world tilted.
The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was searing, urgent—born of adrenaline and the terrifying knowledge of how close she’d come to losing this moment forever.
Her fingers dug into the solid breadth of his shoulders, dragging him closer.
His lips claimed hers with a hunger that mirrored her own, his hands sliding up her spine before threading into her hair, anchoring her to him.
When his teeth grazed her lower lip, a soft, helpless sound escaped her, and she pressed into him, heat flooding through her every nerve.
The solid weight of him against her was grounding and dizzying all at once, her mind spinning as her body clung to the only thing that felt certain in the aftermath of chaos—him.
Then—screeching tires.
The sound cracked the moment apart. She tore her mouth from his, breath ragged, eyes wide. His gaze locked onto hers, dark and intense, still charged with the kiss they’d shared.
For several beats, neither moved. Their foreheads rested together, their breaths shallow, like they were still caught in the echo of the near-disaster.
She finally stepped back, legs trembling so badly she almost stumbled. “Thank you for saving me,” she whispered, her voice unsteady, the words carrying far more than gratitude.
But then the reality of what had just happened slammed into her. The fear. The relief. The fierce, magnetic pull she’d tried to deny—and failed. Panic flared. She needed space, air, something to clear the haze he left in his wake.
“I have to go,” she murmured, her voice barely above a breath.
His hands closed around her upper arms, steadying her as if he could will her to stay. “Natalie—”
She shook her head sharply, cutting him off. “I have to go.” This time, her voice was firmer, but the tremor beneath it betrayed her.
A man appeared beside her, holding out her heavy tote bag. She muttered a shaky, “Thank you,” taking it with fingers that barely felt steady enough to hold it. Her keys were placed in her palm next, and she clutched them as if they were a lifeline.
Without looking back—because she knew if she did, she might not leave—she stumbled to her SUV.
She tossed the bag into the passenger seat, climbed in, and jammed the key into the ignition.
Her hands trembled violently as she started the engine, the sound of it roaring to life almost swallowed by the pounding in her ears.
She drove out of the garage too quickly, her mind a storm she couldn’t outrun.
A block away, her control snapped. She pulled over hard, gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled hands. She leaned forward until her forehead pressed against the leather, breath shuddering in and out, her entire body trembling with leftover adrenaline.
She had been seconds from disaster.
She had been in his arms.
She had kissed him.
And she wasn’t sure she’d ever recover.