The drive back from town to the lake house was quieter than before. Liam didn't touch her, didn't speak much, but the silence was anything but peaceful. It was thick, alive—like every unsaid word clung to the air between them.
When they stepped inside, Mia immediately moved toward the stairs, desperate for space, but his voice stopped her.
"Do you want some tea?"
She hesitated, then gave a small nod. "Okay."
Liam disappeared into the kitchen, the clink of porcelain and the faint hiss of the kettle filling the silence. When he returned, he carried the cups straight to the balcony.
"Come," he said simply, already holding the door open.
Mia followed, more out of stubborn pride than agreement, and the moment she stepped outside, her breath caught. The lake stretched silver beneath the night sky, stars scattered like a thousand diamonds across its dark mirror. The air was crisp, tinged with pine and the faint burn of the tea in her hands. For a heartbeat, she let herself exhale, let herself feel small beneath the endless sky.
And then she felt it. His gaze.
Hot. Relentless. It slid over her profile, traced her every breath, every flicker of movement. The tea suddenly felt like an anchor, her fingers clutching the cup too tightly just to keep from trembling.
"Can you look at the view instead of my face?" she snapped finally, her voice sharp enough to hide the sudden thundering of her heart. She turned toward him, ready to glare, only to realize—
He was already standing so close.
Her chest lurched. She should've taken a step back, but her body betrayed her, rooted to the spot.
Liam's lips curved, slow and dangerous. "Why would I look at the view," he murmured, his voice husky, thick with meaning, "when the only thing more beautiful is standing right in front of me?"
The words slid through her like silk and fire all at once, leaving her insides tangled. She hated the way her pulse leapt, hated the butterflies that swarmed in her stomach like she was eighteen again, hated herself for drinking in the heat of his gaze instead of breaking it.
So she forced a brittle laugh, trying to armor herself with words. "You must recycle these lines often, Mr. Alcaraz. Do you hand them out to every woman you take to dinner?"
Instead of deterring him, her jab only seemed to amuse him. His smirk deepened, his eyes gleaming with a hunger that made her knees weak. He leaned a little closer, enough that his cologne—spice, smoke, danger—wrapped around her.
"Only to the ones who make me forget the rest," he said smoothly. "And trust me, Mia, I've forgotten everyone else tonight."
Her breath hitched. She wanted to scoff, to roll her eyes, to stab back with another sharp remark. But the truth was undeniable—her heart was fluttering, her cheeks heating, and she hated herself for it.
"Flattery doesn't work on me anymore," she said coldly, though her voice trembled at the edges.
Liam studied her, the corner of his mouth curving like he could see right through the lie. "Then why are you blushing?"
Mia's throat tightened. Damn him. She looked away sharply, focusing on the shimmering lake, desperate for distance. But even with the stars above and the vast water below, she couldn't escape the heat of him beside her.
And Liam—God help her—looked like a man who had only just begun to play.
Then, just as they stepped back into the house, the lights flickered. And died.
Darkness swallowed the space whole. Mia cursed softly, fumbling against the wall. "Of course. Perfect timing."
She moved blindly through the living room, her hand grazing furniture—until she collided, hard, into solid muscle.
Liam.
Her breath hitched. His hands caught her arms instinctively, steadying her, but neither of them moved away. The dark wrapped around them, pressing them too close. Her pulse thundered as his breath brushed her cheek.
"Careful," he murmured, his voice low, rough.
Mia opened her mouth to retort—but nothing came out. Her words tangled, caught somewhere between fury and something far more dangerous. Because he was there. Too close. His warmth seeped into her skin, his scent—spice, smoke, Liam—dizzying her senses. His lips hovered just shy of hers, so close she could almost feel the shape of them brushing against her own.
And then he kissed her.
Not gentle. Not hesitant. Raw. Hungry. The kind of kiss that snapped through restraint like a live wire, igniting every nerve until she thought she might combust.
Mia gasped, but the sound was swallowed instantly as her body betrayed her—leaning forward, surging into him like gravity itself had chosen sides. Her fingers clawed into his shirt, dragging him closer, clutching him as though anger alone wasn't strong enough to hold her steady. Fury poured into the kiss, sharp and trembling, but beneath it, want clawed its way free, scorching her from the inside out.
She hated him. She wanted him. And she kissed him like both truths were tearing her apart.
Liam groaned, a low, guttural sound that vibrated through her bones and shot straight to her core. His hand slid up her back, strong fingers splaying over the curve of her spine, anchoring her, branding her. He crushed her against him, the solid wall of his chest pressing her into the truth she refused to face—that no matter how much she tried to bury it, part of her still belonged to him.
His mouth moved over hers with merciless hunger, like a starving man at last given the meal he'd been denied for years. He wasn't kissing to test. He wasn't kissing to play. He was kissing to own—to remind her of every moment that had ever belonged to them, to carve his way back into her memory until she couldn't breathe without the taste of him.
Her taste. Her fire. The way she still trembled in his arms even as she resisted—it undid him, shattered the iron walls he had spent years building. This wasn't just a kiss. It was a battle. A surrender. A war fought with mouths and hands and ragged breaths, where victory meant being the last one to let go.
And she matched him, strike for strike.
Mia bit his lip hard enough to sting, and he growled into her mouth, deepening the kiss until it was punishment and plea tangled together. His hands dragged along her waist, gripping her hips as though to burn his touch into her skin through the thin fabric of her blouse. She clung tighter, nails raking into his shoulders, pulling him closer as if fury and longing had become the same desperate force.
The world collapsed around them. No lake house. No silence. No stars beyond the windows. Only fire and memory and the dangerous truth they couldn't escape. Every frantic press of lips was a reminder of what they had lost. Every ragged inhale was proof of what still lived between them—furious, unyielding, and impossible to kill.
Her chest heaved against his, hearts slamming together in a rhythm too wild to control. His teeth scraped her lower lip and she whimpered, the sound breaking through her walls before she could stop it. Liam's breath caught, his body trembling with restraint that threatened to snap apart completely.
They tumbled onto the couch in a haze of heat and shadows, but neither noticed the groan of the cushions beneath them. Mia was straddling the line between fury and surrender, her body aching with contradictions. Her hands slid to his jaw, nails biting into the stubble as if she wanted to push him away and drag him closer all at once.
Liam's hand tangled in her hair, tugging her head back just enough to devour her mouth deeper, his voice rough against her lips. "You can lie to yourself all you want, Mia... but not to me."
Her only answer was another kiss, reckless and shattering, filled with both hatred and need. She kissed him like she wanted to punish him. He kissed her like he wanted to claim her. And between them, the dark pulsed with fire too dangerous to name.
Because for her, it was supposed to be just tonight. Just a kiss. Just lips.
But for him, it was everything. Every kiss they had ever shared, every memory he refused to let her forget.
And as he held her tighter, losing the last threads of restraint, Liam knew one thing with bone-deep certainty.
He wanted Mia Villaruiz back in his life.
Whatever it took.
When they finally broke apart, it wasn't choice. It was survival. Their lungs screamed for air, their bodies trembling from the force of it.
Foreheads pressed together, their breaths tangled—harsh, uneven, raw. The distance between them was no distance at all, still close enough for her lips to brush his with every exhale, close enough for him to taste the ghost of her kiss.
And God, he wasn't ready to stop.
The silence roared, deafening and alive. Moonlight spilled through the glass walls, painting their bodies in silver, casting shadows over the sharp lines of his jaw, the flushed curve of her cheeks. They sank onto the sofa—side by side, but not apart. Never apart. Her hand still clutched his shirt like she'd forgotten to let go, and he didn't dare move in case she remembered.
Liam's chest rose and fell, each breath a war to keep his control. He wanted to reach for her again, to pull her into his lap and taste every inch of the woman who had haunted him for years. He wanted to strip away her fury and her clothes until nothing stood between them but the truth.
But he forced himself still, forced himself silent, because if he touched her again, he wouldn't stop.
And Mia—her lips swollen, her chest rising in ragged heaves—sat rigid beside him, eyes fixed on the moonlit lake beyond the glass. But her trembling gave her away. Her pulse betrayed her, pounding visibly at her throat.
They didn't speak. They couldn't. Words would only break the fragile, blistering truth hanging between them.
That kiss hadn't been a mistake.
It had been inevitable.
And no matter how much they tried to deny it—
the war between hate and desire was only just beginning.