The endearment rolled off his tongue like a promise and a threat. Jayla's pulse thundered in her ears. She should have walked away. She should have laughed it off. Instead, she whispered, "What's your name?"
He smiled—slow, devastating, all teeth. "Tonight? You can call me whatever you want. I'll be your Jade, if that's what it takes to get you home."
No name. No hesitation. Just raw, electric want crackling between them.
"Name?" he asked.
"Jayla."
His expression darkened with intent. "That's all I need."
He didn't ask permission. He simply closed the distance, one hand sliding to the small of her back, the other tangling in her hair as he tilted her head back. His mouth crashed into hers—hot, demanding, tasting of smoke, whisky, and sin. Jayla moaned into the kiss, fingers clutching his shirt as he pressed her against the cold brick wall.
