Alli

She felt Layla's eyes before she saw them—sharp, territorial, cold enough to make her

skin prickle even from across the room. A familiar sensation, a warning tremor that ran bone-deep. Layla didn't have to say a word; her presence

rippled through The Hollow with every click of her heels against the worn wooden "oor, each step a deliberate declaration of ownership. And that perfume

—too

expensive, too sweet, all wrong for a place that reeked of old beer and men's sweat

—a blatant challenge hung in the air, thick and cloying. The

whole bar shifted, a collective holding of breath, waiting for the inevitable storm.

But Alli didn't turn around, not even when Layla's stare burned a hole between her

shoulder blades, a tangible weight pressing down on her, making her want to hunch her shoulders and disappear. She focused on the condensation dripping down theside of her beer bottle, the cold glass a small comfort against her sud-denly clammy palm.

Her hands were already shaking, trembling with a mixture of nerves and antici-pation, a dangerous cocktail she knew all too well. It was the kind of feeling you got right before a storm hit, the air thick with electricity, the world holding its breath.

Because Johnny was here. Again. Sitting at the bar, broad shoulders hunched as if carrying the weight of the world, jaw

shadowed with stubble and old bruises that told silent stories of !ghts and re-grets. His blue eyes, usually so vibrant, were pale, almost washed out, like the color hadbeen leached from them by too many sleepless nights and hard truths. He looked like a man teetering on the edge, and Alli knew, with a certainty that settled heavy in herstomach, that she was the one who could either pull him back or send him spiraling over the edge.

He stood bathed in the "ickering neon light, a solid, quiet presence. He was as in-tense as a lightning storm brewing under a clear sky, a dangerous kind of beauty thattugged at her, even as warning bells screamed in her head. It was like the rest of

the bar faded into a blurry background every time his eyes found hers. He seemed to see right through the haze, past her

carefully practiced smile, straight to the raw, vulnerable parts she fought so hard to keep hidden.

Just minutes ago, he'd brushed o# Layla's touch with a coldness that stung. It was a dismissal that felt both satisfying and unsettling, a !nality thatsuggested he'd never truly let Layla in, never allowed her past the surface.

Now, his gaze landed on Alli, and the hunger in his eyes was a tangible thing. It still made her thighs clench, even after

all this time, even after all the promises she'd made to herself. It was a possessive look, a claiming look, a look that stripped her bare and left herbreathless.

She knew exactly what that look meant. It was etched in her memory, burned into her soul. It was a brand.

God, she knew the way his mouth tasted—whiskey and !re, a potent combination that ignited her senses. She remembered the way his hands would slideunder

her shirt, warm and rough against her skin, making her gasp, her whole body trembling with a need so !erce it threatened to consume her.

Sometimes, late at night, alone in her bed, she could almost feel his !ngerprints on her hips, tracing the ghost of his touch, remembering

the way he'd press her against the brick wall behind the bar after closing, his breath hot in

her ear, his voice gone rough with wanting.

They had been a secret, her and Johnny—a hidden pleasure, a forbidden desire, one she wore under her clothes like a second skin, a bruise she never

wanted to fade. It was a reminder of a time when she felt truly alive. Everyone saw them "irt, saw the way he teased her with a glint in his eye, and how sheshot back with a sassy retort, but they didn't see the undercurrent, the unspoken language that passed between them, the silent promise of somethingmore.

Alli was smart, quick on her feet, the kind of girl who could charm a snake out of its skin. But nobody saw what happened after hours, when the neon lights "ickered and the air hung thick with secrets. Nobody saw him slip through the back door, the shadows swallowing him until he was nothing but asilhouette against the dim light. Nobody saw him press her against the cold, unforgiving surface of the office desk, the papers scattering like fallen leaves.Nobody saw the desperation in his hands as he pushed her skirt up, the frantic urgency of a man starved for something he couldn't name.

And nobody saw how she wrapped her legs around his waist, clinging to him like a vine, her nails digging into his back. Nobody heard the soft, desperatesounds she made, how she bit down on his shoulder...

The memory of last night's desperate pleasure still clung to her, a phantom sen-sation that made it hard to breathe, hard to focus, hard to keep frommoaning too loud, the taste of salt and sweat on her tongue a lingering reminder.

Nobody knew how good it felt to be wanted, truly wanted, by a man who always looked like he was

about to break, a man who carried the weight of the world in his eyes. It was a dangerous kind of wanting, a reckless kind, the kind that could burn you toashes and leave you begging for more.

Tonight, though, it was even harder to hide the truth simmering beneath the surface. The way Johnny's eyes lingered on her a beat too long, a silent question hangingin the air, a question that echoed the turmoil in her own heart. The way

Layla watched, her gaze sharp and knowing, a storm brewing behind her eyes, dark and threatening. Alli could practically feel the woman's resentment radiat-ing acrossthe room like a furnace.

Alli tried to focus, tried to lose herself in the familiar rhythm of her work—wiping down the sticky bar with a damp rag, stacking glasses with a practiced hand, the clinking sound a fragile shield against the tension that !lled the air, checking the register to make sure the numbers lined up, a futile attempt to impose order on thechaos churning inside her. But her

body betrayed her, every nerve ending on high alert, remembering how he'd touched her the night

before in the shadows behind the bar, the possessive heat of his hands on her skin, the way he'd pulled her close until she could barely breathe, how she'd clung to him,aching and breathless, lost in a world that was only theirs, a world where the only rules were whispered desires and desperate need.

"You gonna pour that," he rumbled, his voice a low, gravelly sound that vibrated through her bones, a sound that always managed to send a shiver down her spine, "orjust keep staring at it like it

owes you answers?"

She jumped, startled by his voice, nearly sloshing the amber whiskey down her wrist. The scent of it, rich and smoky, !lled her nostrils, a sharp contrast to the sweeter,cloying perfume Layla always wore. She hadn't even realized she was still

holding the bottle midair, suspended in a haze of memory and longing, her !n-gers gripping the glass too tight. Heat rushed to her cheeks, a blush creeping up her neck, betraying her inner turmoil.

"Sorry," she muttered, "ustered, her voice barely a whisper, her eyes darting away from his.

She poured his whiskey just the way he liked it—two !ngers neat, no ice—a ritual she'd learned the !rst

week, a secret language spoken in the clink of glass and the scent of oak, a small act of intimacy that sent a thrill through her every time. She slid the glass across thecounter, her hand trembling slightly, anticipation building like a gathering storm, her heart pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird. When his !ngers brushed hers,even

for that "eeting fraction of a second, the charge between them was electric, a jolt that shot straight through her, leaving her breathless, her skin tingling. She felt it low,deep,

dangerous, a forbidden current threatening to pull her under, to drown her in a sea of longing and desire.

He leaned in, closing the distance until she could see the dark circles under his eyes, the faint stubble on his jaw, the angry red cut on

his knuckle from last night's brawl, a silent testament to the violence that always seemed to surround him. His nearness made her head spin, the airthick with the scent of whiskey and leather and something else, something uniquely him, some-thing that drew her in like a moth to a "ame. "You okay?"he asked, his voice softer now, laced with a concern that made her heart ache, a tenderness that felt both dangerous and intoxicating.

The question hit her hard, a sharp, unexpected blow, a reminder of the precar-iousness of her situation, the constant tightrope walk between desire anddanger. "Why wouldn't I be?" she asked, her voice tight, a defensive wall rising up around her.

He tilted his head, his eyes sharp and knowing, as if he could see straight through her carefully constructed facade, straight to the raw, vulnerable truthbeneath. "Because Layla's about two seconds from trying to

set you on !re with her eyes."

Alli couldn't help it—she laughed, a short, nervous sound that betrayed her un-ease, a sound that felt brittle and false even to her own ears. "I can handleher," she said, trying to sound braver than she felt, trying to convince herself that she wasn't in over her head.

"You're braver than I thought," he murmured, his gaze intense, a silent challenge, a silent promise, a silent warning.

She looked at him, really looked at him, and the breath caught in her throat. It wasn't just his face, handsome and rugged as ever, but the raw,undisguised hunger burning in his eyes, the barely leashed desire that mirrored the frantic yearning clawing inside her. It was terrifying and exhilaratingall at once. "No," she whispered, the word a fragile, breathy confession that hung between them in the smoky air. "Just better at

pretending."

His gaze softened, the hard, cynical edges of his face momentarily melting away like ice under a warm sun. In that "eeting second, she saw everything—the

regret that haunted him, the !erce, aching want he tried so hard to hide, the lonely, desolate places he never let anyone else see. It was a glimpse behindthe carefully constructed walls, and it made her pulse skitter and jump, a frantic drumbeat against her ribs.

"You shouldn't look at me like that," she blurted, the words tumbling out before she could stop them, a desperate, foolish plea born of equal parts fear andlonging. Her !ngers tightened around the sweating glass in her hand, knuckles white.

He smiled, slow and lazy and wol!sh, a predatory glint sparking in his blue eyes. He leaned even closer, invading her space, his breath warm andintoxicat-ing against her ear. The scent of whiskey and something uniquely him !lled her senses, making her head spin. "Like what, darlin'?" he murmured,the drawl in his voice thicker, more pronounced than usual.

"Like you're trying to !gure me out," she whispered, her voice trembling despite her best e#orts. Her gaze "ickered down to his mouth, then snapped back up to meet his burning stare.

He held her gaze, his blue eyes burning into hers, hungry and possessive. It was a silent challenge, a dare. "Already did," he murmured, his voice a low, husky rasp that vibrated through her.

Her mouth went dry, her heart pounding so hard she was sure he could hear it. She swallowed hard, trying to regain some semblance of composure. "And what did you !gure out, Johnny?"

He grinned, slow and dangerous, a promise of pleasure and pain lurking in the corners of his mouth. "That you're too sweet for this place, darlin'. Too good for

me."

She bristled, stung by his words, by the casual dismissal in his tone. "I can handle more than you think," she retorted, her chin lifting in de!ance. The Southern Belleact, always a good defense.

He let his eyes drag down her body, slow and shameless, taking in every curve and contour. It wasn't a threat, not exactly—it was

worship, memory, promise, all tangled together in a potent cocktail of desire that made her skin prickle and her breath hitch. "Yeah," he said, his voice a low growl that rumbled in his chest. "That's what I'm afraid of."

Alli swallowed, her heart racing, her senses reeling. She knew exactly what he was afraid of—how wild they

were together—how easily they lost control, how they couldn't keep their hands o# each other when the doors were

locked, the world shut out. The thought sent a shiver of anticipation down her spine. She yearned to pull him into the walk-in cooler, the metal door clanging shut behindthem, a promise of stolen moments, of breathless kisses and desper-ate touches. Mouths would collide in a desperate, hungry dance of tongues and teeth. Fingers wouldfumble with buttons, tear at

fabric, a raw, urgent need to feel him against her skin.

Behind him, Layla pushed herself up from her stool, muttered something sharp and ugly to one of the regulars, and stalked out of the

bar with the wounded grace of a predator, her anger a palpable thing in the humid air, thick and heavy like the approaching storm. Johnny didn't even turn to watch her

go, his focus absolute, laser-locked on Alli.

The intensity of his gaze made her head spin, a dizzying heat threatening to buckle her knees. It felt like he wanted to lay her bare right there on the

scarred wooden surface of the bar, like he needed her under his hands, under his mouth, utterly consumed by him. And God, she wanted it

too. Wanted him so badly that her thighs pressed together, a silent ache remem-bering the last

time—the way he'd groaned her name like a prayer, the way she'd shattered into a million pieces at his touch. The memory was a brand, searing her skin, leaving her breathless and desperate for more.

He leaned in, the scent of smoke and something inde!nably him !lling her senses, his breath ghosting across her ear. The mournful twang of the steelguitar seemed to underscore the intimacy of the moment, a secret language only they understood in the crowded bar. "That's the thing about looking puttogether," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that vibrated against her skin. His eyes, dark pools in the

dim light, held a weight she couldn't quite decipher, a hidden depth that both in-trigued and frightened her. "Nobody ever asks what's broken under thehood."

A shiver traced its way down her spine, prickling her skin and raising goose-bumps on her arms. His words were a dare, an invitation to reveal the carefully guarded cracks in her facade. "And what if I want someone to ask?" she whispered, her voice barely audible above the music, a fragile pleahanging in the air between them.

His gaze intensi!ed, locking onto hers with an intensity that made her breath catch in her throat. Slowly, deliberately, his hand snaked across thepolished sur-face of the bar, !nding hers in the dim, hidden space beneath. His !ngers laced through

hers, a possessive grip that sent a jolt of electricity shooting up her arm, settling low in her belly. It was a claim, a silent promise of something dangerousand thrilling. His thumb traced slow, deliberate circles on her wrist, the pad of his thumb rough against her sensitive skin, a subtle, sensual caress thatmade her heart pound in her chest. "Then you tell me what's broken, darlin'," he murmured, his voice a husky caress, his gaze never leaving hers, holdingher captive in its depths. "And I'll

see if I can !x it."

A shaky breath escaped her lips, the air suddenly thick with unspoken desires and the heavy weight of expectation. Nobody had ever touched her like this,looked at her like this, wanted her like

this—not even in the deepest, darkest corners of her fantasies. Not the way Johnny did, with a raw, primal need that mirrored her own. It was as if he sawpast the carefully constructed walls she'd built around herself, saw the vulnerability beneath, and wanted to protect it, possess it. Like he needed her morethan air, like she was the only thing keeping him grounded in a world that threatened to swallow him whole.

The bell over the door jingled, a harsh, jarring intrusion that shattered the fragile intimacy that had enveloped them. A boisterous group of college kidsspilled in, their laughter loud and

careless, their energy disrupting the quiet corner they had carved out for them-selves. The spell was broken, the bubble of their private world burst bythe intru-sion of reality. Johnny squeezed her hand once, a silent acknowledgment, a prom-ise of more to come, then reluctantly released her, taking a step

back into the shadows, his eyes never breaking contact, a silent conversation passing between them.

"You don't owe me anything," he said, his voice rough around the edges, as if the words were being torn from him, each syllable laced with a pain hecouldn't quite

conceal. "But I'm not like her, Alli. I'm not trying to hurt you."

She blinked hard, !ghting back the sudden sting of tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. His words were a balm to her wounded soul, but also a warn-ing, areminder of the potential for heartbreak. She gave a small, hesitant nod, her throat tight with emotion. "Maybe not," she managed, her voice trembling slightly despiteher best e#orts. "Doesn't mean you won't."

He looked as if he wanted to argue, to deny the truth in her words, to promise her a future free from pain, then seemed to think better of it, the !ght draining out of him. Heknew her too well, knew the scars she carried, knew the inherent risk in opening herself up to anyone. He just nodded,

slow and resigned, his eyes !lled with a dark, knowing sadness that mirrored her own. He drifted back down the bar to his usual stool, melting back into the ano-nymity ofthe crowd, leaving her aching, empty, burning up

inside with a longing that threatened to consume her.

Alli watched him go, her whole body a live wire of memory, her nerves raw with a desperate, aching desire that pulsed through her veins. The ghost of his touch lin-geredon her skin, a phantom sensation that both tormented and thrilled her. She

forced herself to breathe, to focus on the mundane tasks in front of her, to wipe down the already spotless bar, to count the bottles she'd already counted twice.

But all

she could think about was him—his hands, the way they felt on her skin, cal-loused and strong, yet surprisingly gentle; his mouth, the taste of him, a heady mix ofwhiskey and something uniquely his own; the secret bruises he left on her

thighs, a silent testament to their stolen moments; the things he whispered in the dark when nobody else could hear, promises and confessions shared in hushed tones, binding them together in a web of secrecy and desire.

She knew it wasn't over. It wasn't harmless. It was the kind of wanting that destroyed

people, that left them broken and hollowed out, consumed by a !re they couldn't control.

But she wanted it anyway. God, she wanted it. God help her, she wanted him anyway.