Page 47 of The Heart Breaker

She lets out a soft, infuriating laugh. “You’re delusional.”

I lift a brow. “You’re gripping my shirt, Prescott.”

She looks down, finally realizing the way her fist is tangled in my shirt, tugging me closer to her. Her eyes flick back up to mine and she swallows, that usual confidence of hers slipping.

“We said one time,” she reminds me.

“I know,” I mutter, my grip tightening on her hips. “Stupid fucking idea.”

Her chest is rising too fast for someone who supposedly doesn’t care. She holds my gaze, and I can see her thinking itthrough, can practically watch her come to the conclusion that she’s going to hate herself in the morning.

And then she pushes up onto her toes until her mouth is almost on mine.

“Fine,” she whispers. “Prove you still know how to fuck me.”

16

AURORA

The second the words leave my mouth, I regret them.

Sleeping with the enemy is never a good idea—especially when that enemy happens to be my ex’s rival.

Honestly, that might’ve been the whole reason I said yes the first time. Some petty part of me liked the idea that Chase might hear about it one day and choke on his ego. It made me feel… vindicated. Like I’d taken one tiny piece of power back after years of letting him make me feel small.

But that was all it was supposed to be. A one-time screw to snap whatever tension had been brewing between Cole and me since the club, and also a way to get back at my ex.

This, though… this has nothing to do with Chase.

This is about the fact that Cole knows exactly what he’s doing, and I know exactly what I’m getting with him. There are no fake promises, sweet talk, or pretending it means more than it does.

This is just sex.

All men are liars. You just have to find one who can fuck you right and make sure you don’t hand him a single inch of your heart.

Which is how I end up letting Cole shove me back against a tree instead of turning around and walking inside.

He drags me behind the row of hedges, far enough from the backyard that I can still hear the laughter and the music, but not close enough to see anyone—and, more importantly, not close enough for anyone to see us.

Bark presses into my shoulder blades as he crowds me against the tree, his fingers flexing on my hips as if he’s fighting himself. When I look up, his eyes are dark under the orange string lights, fixed on me in a way that makes heat curl low in my stomach.

“I shouldn’t want you,” he mutters, the words rough enough to sound dragged out of him. “Shouldn’t even be touching you.”

I lift my chin, refusing to be the only one coming apart here. “Then don’t,” I tell him. “I can go find someone who will.”

His tattooed hand comes up and curls around my chin, tilting my face up until I have no choice but to look at him.

“Drop the fucking attitude,” he rumbles, close enough that the words vibrate against my lips. “Before I make it drip out of you.”

His words knock the breath out of me so hard I have to curl my fingers into the bark behind me for stability. His hand drops from my chin and slides down my side, over my hip, then lower, dragging the hem of my dress up inch by inch until the cold night air hits my thighs. I feel a shiver crawl up my spine and, of course, he notices.

One brow lifts as his hand tightens on my thigh. “You’re shaking,” he murmurs.

“It’s cold,” I lie, but the words snag on my breath the second his grip tightens.

A low scoff leaves him. “Prescott, if you’re gonna lie to me, at least make it believable.”

I glare up at him and hold his stare, refusing to look away even with my heart slamming against my ribs.