The morning broke heavy and gray, clouds swollen with the promise of more rain. Elena stood at the kitchen window of Rosa's house, a half-empty cup of coffee cooling in her hand, and tried to steady her breathing. She had been awake for hours, tossing in sheets that still smelled faintly of lavender and mothballs, her body restless, her mind betraying her with memories she had no business entertaining.
Every time she closed her eyes, Damian was there. The scrape of his voice. The heat of his hand at her waist. The way his gaze devoured her like he had a right to her even now.
Elena pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the window, exhaling slowly. This is ridiculous. She had come back to Millbrook for family, for closure, not for him. Not to be dragged back into a hunger that had already once cost her everything.
But her body didn't listen to reason.
When she'd walked through the town yesterday, pretending to busy herself with errands, it had been as if every surface carried his ghost. The wood of the market counter rough beneath her fingertips just like his calloused palm. The brush of fabric in Rosa's sewing room against her wrist just like his mouth against her skin. Even the storm last night had whispered his name.
And beneath it all, her body pulsed with betrayal, demanding what she refused to give.
The Knock
She was rinsing her mug in the sink when it came a knock at the front door. Not polite, not hesitant. Firm. Controlled.
Her chest tightened. She didn't have to look to know who it was.
For a long moment, she stood frozen, water running over her fingers, heart hammering like a trapped bird. She told herself not to answer, to let the silence push him away. But silence had never been enough to stop Damian Rivera.
The knock came again. Slower this time. Measured. A warning wrapped in patience.
Elena dried her hands with trembling fingers and forced herself toward the door.
When she opened it, the morning air swept in, cool and damp, carrying the scent of rain and sawdust. And there he was.
Damian stood on the porch, broad shoulders filling the doorway, damp hair falling across his forehead. His eyes dark, relentless locked onto hers with the force of a blow.
"Elena."
Her name in his mouth was low, rough, too intimate.
She swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the door for balance. "What do you want?"
His gaze swept over her, deliberate, lingering too long at the curve of her throat, the tremble of her hands. "To talk."
"There's nothing to talk about."
"Five years says otherwise."
The Stand-Off
She tried to shut the door, but his hand came up, palm braced against the wood. Not shoving, not forcing just there. Solid. Immovable.
"Elena." His voice softened, but it cut deeper that way. "Don't run."
Her pulse stuttered. He had no right to say that. No right to look at her like that, like he could still see beneath every layer she'd built.
"I'm not running," she lied, chin lifting.
His lips curved half smirk, half wound. "You've been running since the night you left."
The words sliced through her. She stepped back, shaking her head. "You don't get to throw that in my face."
"You don't get to pretend it didn't happen."
The air between them thickened, silence swelling with everything unsaid. Her chest rose and fell too fast, every breath scraping against her ribs.
She hated that he could still do this to her. Hated that her body leaned toward him even as her mind screamed to shut him out.
The Push and Pull
Finally, she snapped, voice sharp to cover the quiver. "Why are you here, Damian? What do you want from me?"
His eyes flared, and for a heartbeat, the mask slipped. Hunger burned raw and undisguised.
"You."
The word landed like a brand against her skin.
Her throat closed. She shook her head, retreating another step. "No. You don't get to say that. Not after everything. Not after"
"After you left me?" His voice rose, not loud but heavy, weighted with years of silence. "After you promised and then vanished like I meant nothing?"
Her stomach twisted. Her fingers found the scar at her collarbone, the ghost of that night pressing down on her.
"You don't understand."
"Then make me." His voice was a demand, his eyes unrelenting. "Stop hiding behind excuses. Stop hiding behind this town, this house, your grandmother's shadow. Look at me, Elena. Tell me you don't still feel it."
Her chest heaved, tears stinging her eyes. Because she couldn't. She couldn't tell him that.
Because it wasn't true.
Her body betrayed her, heat unfurling low in her belly, her skin alive with the memory of his hands.
"I can't do this," she whispered, turning away, fingers curling tight around the doorframe.
But Damian moved closer, his presence a tide that pressed against her back, overwhelming. He didn't touch her not yet but the air between them crackled with the promise of it.
"Yes, you can," he murmured, voice a rasp against her ear. "Because it's already happening."
The Near Surrender
Her knees weakened, every nerve ending on fire. The scent of him surrounded her cedar, sweat, rain. Her heart raced so violently she thought it might give her away entirely.
"Damian…" It came out a plea, fragile and fractured.
His hand lifted, hovered just shy of her hip. Not touching. Teasing. His restraint was worse than a caress.
"You think Manhattan can give you this?" His whisper was a blade wrapped in velvet. "You think running from me will make it stop?"
Her body arched helplessly toward him, even as her mind screamed no. She was drowning, fighting for air in a tide she had no strength to resist.
"Say it," he demanded softly. "Say you don't want me, and I'll walk away."
She opened her mouth, desperate for the word. No. Just one syllable. But it stuck in her throat, choking her, because her body betrayed her with every trembling breath.
She spun, shoving at his chest, but the push lacked force. Her palms lingered against him, feeling the heat beneath his shirt, the solid wall of muscle that had only grown harder over the years.
Damian's jaw flexed, his hands finally closing over hers. Trapping. Anchoring.
"Don't lie to me," he growled.
And God help her, she didn't. She couldn't.
The Break
The moment stretched, trembling on the edge of collapse. Their breaths tangled, their lips dangerously close. One more heartbeat and the dam would burst, everything flooding back in a rush they couldn't stop.
But Elena wrenched free, stumbling back, her chest heaving. "I can't," she gasped. "Not like this. Not again."
Damian's eyes burned, wild with frustration, with need. His fists clenched at his sides, the predator in him straining against the leash.
He didn't follow. Didn't grab. Didn't force. But his voice was low and lethal as he spoke.
"You can lie to yourself, Elena. But your body already answered me."
The words gutted her.
Before she could reply, he turned, stalking down the porch steps into the gray morning. His shoulders were rigid, his steps sharp, but she saw the tremor in his hand as he raked it through his hair.
And then he was gone, leaving her trembling in the doorway, pulse still racing, skin still burning from a touch that had never even fully landed.
Aftermath
Elena slammed the door shut, pressed her back against it, and slid down until she sat on the floor. Her hands shook uncontrollably. Her lips tingled with the memory of a kiss that hadn't happened but nearly had.
Tears blurred her vision. She pressed her palms against her face, fighting the storm inside her.
Damian was right.
Her body had answered.
And that terrified her more than anything.