2. Michael
Michael
I felt her before I saw her.
That spark. That sharp, humming energy that only she brings into a room. I was in mid-conversation with Slade about the new VIP pit layout, but I stopped listening the second the air shifted.
And there she was.
Kate Peters. Or Kathryn, when she’s feeling icy.
Back in my town. Wearing that smug little smirk like she never tore me up and disappeared.
I hate that she’s back.
Hate how good she looks tonight. Hate that her laugh from across the bar cuts through music and money and everything I thought I wanted with Krystal.
And I fucking hate how my body reacts like it hasn’t learned its lesson.
Bayview is packed with beautiful women. Models. Trust fund darlings. Socialites who throw themselves at me because they think I’m their golden ticket.
But Kate?
She doesn’t want a damn thing from me.
And that’s exactly why I can’t get her out of my system.
She’s not just beautiful—she’s untouchable. Class and heat wrapped in ambition. The kind of woman who doesn’t need anyone but still makes you ache to be the one she lets in.
She’s not interested in being a mistress to power. She’s the kind of woman who is power.
I take a sip of my bourbon, jaw tight.
She turned me down last summer. Left me standing on the docks like some eager boy still wet behind the ears. And the worst part?
She haunts me.
She’s a riddle I can’t crack. And I want to. In every way. In my bed, in my arms, and in my fucking head until I understand what makes her tic.
My gaze drops to her lips as she takes a sip of her drink and laughs at something her friend says. She throws her hair over her shoulder like she doesn’t know I’m watching.
But she knows.
We lock eyes.
And everything between us ignites.
Again.
"You good, boss?"
Slade’s voice cut through the hum of salsa drums and spinning rum cocktails, dragging me out of my trance.
I was staring.
Again.
And everyone at this damn table knew exactly who had my attention. Even my new girl who has heard whispers about the one who got away.
"Yeah," I lied, nursing my bourbon. "Fine."
"You’re not fine," Brett said with a lazy grin. "You’re doing that thing again—tight jaw, clenched fist, death glare. Like she owes you something."
"She does," I muttered, under your breath.
"She’s not yours, man."
"She should’ve been."
"Mike—" Slade warned, dropping his voice. "Don’t do this again. She’s back, so what? Doesn’t mean she wants you. Doesn’t mean she won’t burn you worse than last time."
"She’s a walking liability," Brett added, eyes scanning the crowd like a soldier on rotation. "And you’re acting like a fucking civilian."
"You all done?"
No one answered. Thankfully, Krystal had left to greet a friend at the bar.
I leaned forward, glass sweating in my hand, and looked across the room.
There she was.
Kate Peters.
Dripping in quiet elegance like she walked out of a private yacht club catalog. Perfect posture. Confident smile. That signature gold chain catching the light just above her corset top. A face too polished for this town, and a body that could kill a man without trying.
She laughed at something and flipped her hair over her shoulder.
I nearly groaned.
Bayview was full of beautiful women—some fake, some fun, most forgettable.
But her? She's a damn enigma.
We shared one night that didn’t even count as a night, and it wrecked me. She walked out like I was nothing.
And yet, here I am. Still watching. Still pissed. Still hard.
Slade followed my gaze, then whistled low. "There it is."
"What?"
"That look. The one you only get when she’s near. Like you want to hate-fuck her and marry her in the same breath."
"He wants to solve her," Brett added. "She’s the kind of woman who makes a man think he’s in control right before she disappears and takes the damn map with her."
They weren’t wrong.
And I hated that even more than I hated her for leaving.