Chapter 12
Mack's POV
She slipped through the crowd like a flame—untouchable to everyone else but meant to scorch him alive.
Mack didn't hesitate. He followed, eyes locked on the curve of her hips as she led him deeper into the club, past the dance floor and into a dimly lit hallway near the restrooms and staff doors. The beat of the music pulsed through the walls. Shadowy, humid, secluded—almost too perfect.
Viola stopped at a corner, turning to face him with a challenge in her smirk. "Caught me."
He reached her in two long strides, pressing her gently but firmly against the wall. His hands slid to her hips, holding her in place. "You think this is a game?"
"Aren't you playing too?" she asked, breath hitching as his fingers trailed upward, slow and deliberate.
"I'm done playing," Mack growled, his lips brushing hers—but not kissing her. Not yet. "You've been driving me out of my mind, Viola. That mouth. That dress. That look you give me like you know exactly what I'm thinking."
"Maybe I do," she whispered.
He moved in, finally letting his lips claim hers—hot, hungry, and full of everything he'd been holding back. She responded instantly, her hands tangling in his shirt, pulling him closer as if she needed his body to steady her.
The kiss deepened—fire and electricity roaring through both of them. One hand slid up her thigh, gripping just above her knee, drawing it up around his waist. She gasped into his mouth as he pressed her more firmly against the wall like he wanted to fuse her to him.
"You shouldn't wear things like this," he murmured against her lips. "Not unless you're ready for the consequences."
"You shouldn't follow me," she fired back. "Not unless you're ready to lose control."
His hand slid behind her neck, fingers threading through her hair, tugging just enough to make her eyes widen. Her lips parted.
"Princess," he rasped, voice like smoke, "I lost control the second I saw you tonight."
The hallway felt like its own world—dark, intimate, wrapped in heat. Her breathing was ragged now, lips swollen, skin flushed. She dragged her mouth along his jawline, down to his throat, nipping at the spot that made his eyes flutter shut. Mack cursed under his breath, gripping her tighter.
"Say the word," he said, jaw clenched, breath hot against her ear. "And I'll take you out of here right now. We don't make it back to your place before I have my hands under this dress."
Viola stared at him, pupils blown wide. Her lips hovered just above his. "And if I say no?"
He smiled wickedly. "Then I'll wait. But I'll haunt you. Every second. Every breath. Every time you close your eyes tonight, you'll see me."
Their foreheads pressed together, chests rising and falling in sync.
She didn't say anything.
She didn't have to.
Her fingers tugged at his collar. And her kiss—deeper, bolder this time...
She pulled away slowly, breathless, lips still tingling from the intensity of their kiss. Her hand flattened against his chest, feeling the solid, heated beat beneath it. He didn't say a word. Didn't have to.
That look in his eyes said everything.
And that's why she had to stop.
Viola let her foot slide back down to the floor, stepping out of his arms. "Mack," she whispered, voice steady despite the war inside her, "this… this can't happen. Not like this."
He blinked, confusion flickering in his gaze.
"I know what you want," she added gently, smoothing her dress. "And I'd be lying if I said I didn't want it too. But I'm not someone you just pull into a dark corner. I've spent too long trying to put myself back together. If I lose control again—especially with you—I'm scared I won't come back."
He exhaled sharply, jaw clenching. "Viola…"
She offered him a soft smile, one hand already fishing her phone out of her clutch. "I'm calling a car."
Before he could protest, she kissed his cheek—brief, warm, and final.
Outside the club, the city hummed with life. The Uber pulled up just as she stepped onto the curb, heels clicking softly on the concrete. She opened the door, slid inside, and was just about to pull it shut when a strong hand stopped it.
Mack.
Leaning down, arm braced on the doorframe, eyes locked with hers.
"Dinner," he said firmly. "Tomorrow night. My place. I'm not asking."
Viola raised an eyebrow, fighting a smile. "Are you always this stubborn?"
"When it comes to you?" His voice dropped low, rough as gravel. "Every d*mn time."
Her heart betrayed her again, thumping like it had no sense of self-preservation.
She nodded once. "Fine. Dinner."
He smirked—satisfied, but not smug. "Good. Wear something you can run in."
The car door clicked shut. Viola leaned her head back against the seat, exhaling a long breath as the city lights streaked by outside the window.
She was in trouble.
Delicious, undeniable, six-foot-something kind of trouble.
And dinner tomorrow might be the match that sets everything ablaze.