Neither of them spoke. Neither dared. The silence wasn't empty—it was charged, suffocating, thick with everything they wanted to say and everything they couldn't. The air itself seemed to tremble between them, hot and unforgiving.
Until Liam ruined it.
He leaned back, his chest still heaving, smirk curling like a man who knew exactly how dangerous he was. His eyes burned like the night—dark, ruthless, hungry. "I was right," he rasped, his voice low enough to scrape against her skin.
Mia's head snapped toward him, eyes blazing. "About what?"
His gaze pinned her, unyielding, merciless. "That you still want me."
Her chest tightened, heat rushing down her neck, settling low where she couldn't fight it. She hated that he could still see right through her. Hated even more that he wasn't wrong. But pride was a sharper blade than desire, and she would never let him see her bleed.
Her laugh came brittle, mocking, though her voice trembled underneath. "Don't flatter yourself, Alcaraz. Any woman can kiss and have sex with a man without feelings. Just like men do. All the time."
The words cut him clean. His smirk faltered, his jaw clenched tight, fists curling against his thighs like he needed pain to keep from reaching for her. For once, Liam didn't have a comeback—just silence, taut and dangerous.
Mia saw it. And before reason could stop her, she leaned in, lips curving into a taunt. "What's the matter? Did I hit a nerve?"
His eyes darkened, fire and fury colliding. "Careful, Mia." His voice was gravel, low and guttural, like it came from the very edge of restraint.
But she didn't back down. Her chin lifted, lashes lowering as her tone sharpened like glass. "Maybe I should be careful. Or maybe..." Her voice slipped into silk, lethal and slow. "Maybe I should prove you wrong. Maybe I should play your game and show you how easy it is to kiss, to touch, to sleep with a man—without getting attached. No strings. No feelings. It's common enough these days, isn't it?"
Her smile was venom-sweet as she delivered the final blow. "I'd find it more acceptable than believing in fairy tales like true love. That doesn't exist, Liam."
Inside, her chest twisted, the words cutting her deeper than they cut him. But she locked her expression in ice, vowing he would never see the crack in her armor. He would never know how her pulse still betrayed her, how her heart still raced for him.
Liam's breath caught, his composure cracking wide.
"Maybe," she pressed on, eyes locking on his mouth like a dare, "I'll make you the fool this time. Watch you burn. Watch you beg. Just to show you how little it means to me."
His smirk returned, slower now, more dangerous, more unsteady. His jaw ticked, his body betraying him with every ragged breath, every twitch of his hand like he was seconds from pulling her into his lap.
"You think you can play my game?" he whispered, leaning in until his lips hovered a whisper from hers. His breath fanned hot across her cheek. "Sweetheart... my game is the fire. And you'll be ashes before you even realize you're burning."
Mia's pulse thundered, but her smile held. "Then let me burn."
And then—
the lights blazed back to life.
The electricity hummed, flooding the room with brightness so stark it shattered the protective veil of shadows around them.
For the first time, they saw each other clearly. Her lips swollen, her cheeks flushed crimson; his hair mussed, his eyes dark and wild, his chest rising like he'd just fought for air. Their rawness, their trembling hunger—it was all exposed.
Mia's breath stuttered. She turned her face sharply, but not fast enough to hide the way her blush betrayed her.
Liam's smirk curved again, faint but knowing, like he'd just confirmed every suspicion he'd ever had. "Look at you," he murmured, voice low and taunting. "Flushed. Shaking. I was right."
Her head whipped back, fire sparking in her eyes, desperate to claw her pride back. "You're wrong. Any woman could look like this after a kiss that means nothing." Her voice trembled, but she forced it sharp. "Just like men prove every day."
The words carved straight through him, but he didn't flinch. He only leaned back, gaze heavy, searing. "Then play your game, Mia. Mask it. Pretend it means nothing. But one day..." His voice dropped lower, husky and raw. "One day you'll stop pretending."
She glared, nails digging crescents into her palms, because she knew—God help her, she knew—that he wasn't wrong. But she would rather die than let him see it.
So she lifted her chin, her lips curving in a cold, brittle smile. "Not in this lifetime, Alcaraz."
And yet, even as she said it, her pulse betrayed her—thundering so hard she thought he might hear.
Because the truth was written all over both of their flushed faces, lit stark and unforgiving by the glow of the chandelier.
They wanted.
And wanting was going to destroy them both.
They both retired to their rooms, doors closing with a finality that promised distance. But sleep never came.
Mia lay on her bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling as the shadows stretched across her room. Her heart still raced from earlier—from his words, his kiss, the way his gaze burned through her no matter how hard she fought it. She turned on her side, then her back again, but the silence only made the memory louder.
On the other side of the house, Liam lay the same, muscles taut against the mattress, staring at the ceiling as though it mocked him. He should be asleep. He should be calm. Instead, every time he closed his eyes, he saw Mia—her trembling lips, the defiance in her voice, the fire that still belonged to him no matter how she denied it. Sleep was impossible.
By midnight, Mia gave up. Thirst drove her out of bed. She padded quietly toward the kitchen, her bare feet whispering against the wooden floor. She hadn't bothered to put on her robe—why would she? The lake house was empty except for her. Or so she thought.
She froze.
Footsteps. Steady. Closer.
Her breath caught, heart thundering as she realized who it must be. Liam.
And that was when she remembered—her gown. Thin. Flimsy. Nearly transparent under the moonlight spilling through the windows. A traitorous smile curved her lips. Any man seeing her like this would be undone. And Liam Alcaraz was no exception.
When he appeared in the hallway, barefoot and bare-chested, Mia's breath tangled in her throat. He wasn't fully dressed—only sweatpants clung low to his hips, leaving the sculpted lines of his chest, his abs, his broad shoulders completely bare. His skin gleamed faintly in the silver light, making him look carved from temptation itself.
For a moment, neither spoke. They just stared.
Her flimsy gown clung to her curves, the lace beneath visible, teasing. His gaze locked on hers, dark and feral, before dipping lower despite his will. He swallowed hard, forcing his jaw tight as though clenching control.
"Mia," he rasped, his voice low, gravel scraping against restraint. He dragged his eyes back to hers, though it took everything in him. "It's late."
Her pulse stuttered at the way her name sounded in his voice—rough, wrecked. She forced herself to turn, to grab a glass of water from the counter as though unaffected. But the heat crawling up her neck betrayed her.
She risked a glance back—and her own throat went dry.
Liam, standing under the dim light, half-naked and devastating, his body honed into every girl's fantasy. His chest rose with quiet, controlled breaths, every line of him screaming strength and sin. And she hated—hated—that the only thing that came to mind was how yummy he looked. Like he was something forbidden but irresistible, like she wanted to devour him and despised herself for it.
Her fingers trembled on the glass. She swallowed hard, the sound embarrassingly loud in the silence.
Liam saw it. He smirked, though it didn't reach his eyes. His restraint was fraying.
"Mierda..." he muttered under his breath, dragging a hand down his face as if to steady himself. He should look away. He should walk away. But he didn't. His gaze returned to her, burning hotter than fire itself.
Mia turned fully now, chin tilted in defiance though her cheeks flushed scarlet. "You're staring," she said, her tone sharper than she intended.
Liam's lips curved faintly. "And you're tempting."
Her breath caught, but she snapped back, "That's your problem, not mine."
Mia gripped her glass tighter, willing herself to breathe evenly. But inside, she was unraveling. She wanted to push him away. She wanted him closer. She wanted everything and nothing all at once.
And Liam wanted to pin her against the counter, to taste her again, to lose himself in the fire he'd been denied for years.
He moved another step closer, close enough that the faint scent of him—smoke, spice, man—wrapped around her, dizzying. "No, Mia," he said slowly, deliberately. "That's our problem."
Her grip tightened on the glass. Every nerve screamed at her to step back. But her pride—her need to show him she wasn't weak anymore—rooted her in place. She smirked, lifting her glass to her lips with deliberate ease, taking a sip like she wasn't about to combust.
Liam's eyes were dark and hungry, his restraint fraying with every second she stood there in that flimsy gown. He braced one hand on the counter beside her, caging her in without even touching, his presence alone pressing against her like heat.
His voice dropped, velvet and lethal, a blade wrapped in silk.
"You said you could play my game." His gaze seared into hers, daring, relentless. "So tell me, Mia..." He leaned closer, his mouth hovering just shy of hers, his breath fanning her lips. "...do you think we can play it now? Just get it out of our system. Get over this—" his voice rumbled, lower, hungrier, "—once and for all?"
Her breath caught, sharp and uneven. The dare hung heavy between them, thick as sin, electric as a storm before it breaks.
And then she smiled.
Slow. Sharp. Intoxicating. The kind of smile that both taunted and promised ruin. She tilted her head, leaned in until her lips brushed the shell of his ear, the faintest graze that sent fire shooting straight through his veins. Her voice was silk wrapped around steel, a whisper that curled into his skin like smoke.
"Oh, Liam..." Her breath was warm, wicked, unsteady only in the way that made it more dangerous. "Careful what you wish for. Because if we play..."
She pulled back just enough for their eyes to meet—hers glittering with challenge, his dark with need—and let the final words fall like a blade.
"...I'll be the one holding the rules."