There was no room for negotiation in his tone, only that underlying authority that both infuriated her and made her pulse quicken in ways she wished it wouldn't. May's instincts told her to bolt to her room, shut the door, and cry into her pillow until her chest stopped aching.
But some other reckless part of her—the part that had been unraveling since Kade stormed into her life—lowered her onto the sofa.
Kade came back. He sat beside her, close enough that the warmth of his body radiated across the small distance. Without a word, he handed her one of the glasses.
"Oh, no, Mr. Kade, I don't drink."
He ignored her protest, holding the glass in front of her until her fingers had no choice but to curl around it. His eyes stayed on her the entire time. "I think you need a drink," he said. "And I told you to stop calling me Mr. Kade."
