Chapter 33
Mack leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, his eyes locked on hers. "Worked, didn't it?"
She narrowed her eyes, resisting the way her lips wanted to curve. He was impossible. Utterly impossible.
"Fine," she sighed, stepping back so he could come in. "But you're not staying long."
He crossed the threshold without hesitation, brushing past her. His scent—clean, warm, masculine—wrapped around her, making her pulse stumble. He set his keys on her counter like he owned the place, then turned, gaze roaming over her in that way that stripped her bare without touching.
"Angel," he said quietly, voice dipping, "I could sit on that curb every night if it meant you'd let me in every morning."
Her throat went dry. She hated how much she wanted to believe him.
Viola set the tray on the counter, determined to at least drink her coffee before letting him crawl under her skin again. But the second she turned, he was already there. Mack closed the space between them in two slow, deliberate steps.
"Excuse me," she said, trying to edge past him.
He didn't move. Instead, he braced one hand on the counter beside her, the other sliding to her hip, caging her in. His body pressed close, not quite touching, but close enough that heat radiated off him like a live current.
"Mack," she warned, though it came out softer than she intended.
His smile was all slow, dangerous amusement. "Say my name like that again, angel, and I'll forget about the coffee."
Her pulse spiked. She tilted her chin up, meeting those dark, stormy eyes. "You're in my way."
"I like it here." His thumb brushed against the hem of her shirt, just the lightest touch of skin. "You keep trying to slip away, and I keep having to remind you where you belong."
Her breath hitched, caught between outrage and the heat pooling low in her belly. "You don't get to decide where I belong."
He leaned down, mouth grazing her ear, his voice low and rough. "No? Then why are you trembling every time I touch you?"
Her hands betrayed her, fisting in his shirt as if she needed something to hold on to. His scent, his nearness, everything about him was overwhelming.
"Mack…" she whispered, caught.
This time, he didn't hold back. He pressed his body flush against hers, pinning her gently but firmly against the counter, his lips brushing her jaw, trailing lower, a promise and a threat all at once.
"You can lie with your words, angel," he murmured against her skin, "but your body tells me the truth."
His lips grazed her neck, his body pressed deliciously tight against hers, and Viola felt her knees weaken. She hated how much she wanted to just give in, to melt into him, to let herself forget every reason she should stay cautious.
Then his phone buzzed sharply in his pocket.
Mack growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against her skin. For a moment he didn't move, like he was seriously considering ignoring it. Then the buzzing came again, insistent.
He pulled back, his gaze locking onto hers, dark and unreadable. "You're lucky," he muttered, brushing a slow thumb across her bottom lip before straightening.
Her chest heaved as she tried to get air back into her lungs, her pulse hammering wildly. "Don't blame me for your bad timing," she shot back, though her voice was far too breathless to sound convincing.
He gave her a wicked grin, leaning down one last time so his mouth hovered just over hers. "I'm not done with you, angel."
Then he answered the call with a clipped, irritated tone. "Yeah. Talk."
Without another word, he strode outside, his shoulders tense, leaving Viola pressed against the counter, shaken, heated, and dangerously aware of just how little control she had when it came to him.
She grabbed her coffee cup with unsteady fingers, muttering to herself. "What the hell are you doing, Vi…"
Mack's voice dropped lower as he listened on the call, pacing near the door. Viola couldn't hear all the words, but the shift in his expression was enough—hard, sharp, business. His whole body carried that controlled danger she was starting to know too well.
Finally, he hung up and turned back to her. His jaw was tight, but when his eyes met hers, it softened just a fraction.
"I have to go."
"What's wrong?" Viola asked, her stomach twisting.
He closed the distance in two long strides, cupping her face in his big, calloused hands. "SWAT needs me. A manhunt." His tone was calm, but there was an edge under it that made her skin prickle.
Before she could answer, he bent and kissed her so deeply, so fiercely, that she swore he was trying to brand her, trying to leave something behind that would remind her who she belonged to while he was gone. She clutched his shirt without thinking, almost begging him not to pull away.
When he did, he pressed his forehead to hers. "Stay put. Write. I'll be back before you miss me." And with one last smirk, he was gone, the door shutting behind him.
Viola stood there a long moment, heart hammering. Then, with a shaky laugh, she muttered, "Sure. Just casually go take down criminals and leave me here a melted puddle on the floor."
Later, sprawled across her bed in fresh pajamas with damp hair from her shower, she opened her laptop and forced herself to dive into her manuscript. Her final chapters were waiting, and she needed the distraction.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Sam: COFFEE. NOW.
Viola rolled her eyes, fingers flying over the keyboard.
Vi: Can't. Writing.
Seconds later, another buzz.
Sam: Nope. Not accepting excuses. Big news. Meet me at Bean Roasters.
Viola sighed and typed back quickly.
Vi: Is it cry-worthy or laugh-worthy?
Sam replied instantly.
Sam: Both. Which is why you NEED to be here. Don't make me come drag you.
Viola groaned, flopping back on her pillows. "Why do I even have friends?"
The smell of roasted beans and sugar clung to the air as Viola slipped into Bean Roasters. Sam was already there, waving frantically from a corner booth like she was about to burst. Viola braced herself—Sam's energy was never subtle.
"You're late," Sam accused the second Viola sat down. "And you look way too put together for someone who was just abandoned by Mr. Broody SWAT Man."
Viola rolled her eyes, picking up the menu. "Mack didn't abandon me, he had—" she lowered her voice, "—work."
Sam wiggled her brows. "Uh-huh. Work. Sure. And let me guess, he kissed you like you were the only woman left on earth before he left?"
Heat shot to Viola's cheeks. "Can we not?"
Sam smirked but leaned closer, suddenly fidgeting with her coffee cup. "Okay, fine. But I called you here for something serious."
Viola frowned. Sam never looked nervous. "What's wrong?"
Sam inhaled deeply, eyes darting around the café before locking onto Viola's. "I think I'm pregnant."
Viola had just taken a sip of her latte—bad timing. She choked so hard she nearly sprayed it across the table, coughing into her napkin while Sam smacked her on the back.
"You what?" Viola croaked, wide-eyed.
Sam's cheeks were flushed, but there was a tiny smile tugging at her lips. "Pregnant. Like… baby. Tiny human. Not confirmed yet, but… late. Really late."
Viola blinked, her mind spinning. Then it hit her like a thunderclap. "Wait. Sam. Don't tell me—it's Mack's best friend?"
Sam winced, guilty as charged.
"Oh my god!" Viola half-whispered, half-yelled, clutching her forehead. "You mean the one who's always giving Mack crap for being too intense? The one who thinks he's smooth but couldn't flirt his way out of a paper bag?"
Sam bit her lip but her grin broke free. "Yeah. Him."
Viola sat back, staring at her friend like the world had officially tilted off its axis. "You're insane. Absolutely insane. Do you even realize what this means?"
Sam leaned in, eyes twinkling. "It means you're gonna be Auntie Vi whether you like it or not."
Viola groaned and buried her face in her hands. "I'm choking on my coffee again just thinking about it."
Sam laughed so loudly heads turned, but she didn't care.