The sound of Victoria Ashworth’s laughter and the flash of press cameras at the arena earlier that afternoon still tasted like ash on Alesya’s tongue.
Hours earlier, just as Revan’s warm breath had fanned her lips against the fence just as he’d been about to lose every last shred of control in full view of everyone Victoria had arrived with her entourage of socialites.
Revan had pulled back with the speed of a trained athlete.
In the span of a few cold seconds, he had transformed back into The Dark Rider: distant, untouchable, allowing Victoria to loop her arm through his for the photographers as if Phantom’s spectacular jump were the Ashworth family’s triumph all along.
Alesya had chosen to step away.
She’d walked through the arena dust, led Phantom back to the stables, and let their glittering world celebrate its victory without her.
It was eight o’clock at night.
The small celebration at the main house was still going on in the distance.
Soft jazz and the occasional clink of champagne glasses drifted through the evening air through the barn’s half-open doors.
But inside the main tack room, all was dim, quiet, and still.
A single overhead bulb cast a faint yellow glow over the mahogany workbench.
Alesya was cleaning Phantom’s leather bridle, running a soapy glycerin sponge over the straps.
Her movements were slow.
Repetitive.
She was trying to scrub away the burning sensation left on her skin from pressing against Revan’s chest earlier that afternoon.
“Hiding in here, Dr.
Vargas?”
The voice came from the doorway.
Alesya jumped.
The sponge slipped from her hand and landed in the wooden bowl with a soft splash.
Revan stood there.
He’d shed the formal jacket Victoria had forced him into earlier.
He wore only a rumpled white shirt with the top three buttons undone, sleeves rolled roughly up to his elbows, and riding breeches still dusted with arena sand.
His dark hair was a mess, falling over his forehead as if he’d raked his hands through it in frustration.
He wasn’t at his own champagne party.
He was here.
In the tack room, smelling of leather and saddle oil, staring at her with gray eyes that burned wild and bright in the dim light.
“I’d think you’d be toasting the future of Caldwell-Ashworth,” Alesya said, her voice sharp, fighting to steady the tremor in her throat.
Revan ignored the jab.
He stepped inside, slid the heavy mahogany door shut behind him, and turned the iron latch.
It clicked sharp, final, cold.
Locked.
The room suddenly felt smaller, sealed tight, closing in around them.
The scent of expensive bourbon, night air, and overwhelming masculinity washed over her, drowning out the familiar smell of leather and polish.
He walked toward her, slow and deliberate, until he stood right across the workbench.
“I’m sick of champagne,” Revan said, his voice low and rough.
“And your fiancée?”
“Victoria’s busy telling the Vogue editor all about her wedding dress.”
His gaze never left her face.
It dropped to her lips soft, full, and swollen because she’d been biting them without realizing it.
“I looked for you at the arena after the photos,” he murmured.
“My job ended the moment Phantom landed, Revan.
I’m not paid to be a backdrop for your family’s portraits.”
She turned away, reaching for a dry cloth to occupy her suddenly trembling hands.
But before she could move, Revan’s hand reached across the table and wrapped around her wrist.
Warm.
Firm.
Demanding absolute surrender.
He pulled her gently around until she faced him again.
“Let me go, Revan,” she whispered, her voice raw.
“No.”
He walked around the workbench.
He didn’t stop until his tall frame had her trapped between the wooden edge and his broad chest.
There was no space left between them.
She could feel the heat radiating off him, burning through her shirt, and the wild, racing beat of his heart beneath the thin white fabric.
Revan lifted his free hand.
His left shoulder so painful earlier that day moved without resistance, driven by a need stronger than any ache.
His rough, calloused fingers brushed her cheek.
The touch was so gentle it made her breath catch in her throat.
His thumb stroked her cheekbone, then slowly brushed a strand of dry hay from her brown hair near her ear.
His fingers lingered, then trailed softly down the curve of her neck.
“You haven’t heard what I’ve needed to say since this afternoon,” he murmured, his voice thick and unsteady.
He lowered his head until their noses nearly touched.
“Say it,” she whispered, her eyes locked on his dilated gray pupils.
“Say it and let me go.”
“Thank you.”
Two words.
Spoken with a raw, naked vulnerability from a man who’d never thanked anyone in his life.
Alesya froze.
His eyes glistened in the dim light.
“Eight months I lived in a grave, Alesya,” he breathed, his warm breath fanning her parted lips.
“And today… you gave me the sky back.”
Her heart shattered.
All her anger, all the walls she’d built to protect herself from betrayal, crumbled into dust before his honesty.
“Revan…” she sighed, her voice breaking with pain and longing she could no longer hide.
Her hands lifted of their own accord, fingers curling into the white fabric of his shirt, right over his burning heart.
It was an invitation, wordless and clear.
And Revan took it like a dying man seizing his last breath in a desert.
His right hand tangled into her thick, soft brown hair, gripping gently but firmly to hold her exactly where he wanted her.
His arm wrapped tight around her waist, lifting her slightly until her back pressed hard against the wooden cabinet behind them.
BAM.
And then their lips crashed together.
This wasn’t a tentative kiss.
Not a sweet, gentle peck between lovers.
It was an explosion wild, starving, desperate, and heavy with months of pain locked away in the dark.
Revan kissed her as if she were the only source of air in a burning world.
His lips were hot, demanding, and unapologetically possessive.
Alesya gasped, and he deepened the kiss instantly, his tongue sweeping into her mouth with an intimacy that shattered every last thought in her head.
She tasted sweet bourbon, tobacco, and pure, unfiltered desire.
She moaned low in her throat, her arms wrapping around his neck, fingers tangling into his short dark hair, pulling him closer, closer.
Their bodies fit together perfectly in the shadows of the tack room.
His hips pressed firmly against hers, claiming her completely.
Every time he pulled gently on her lower lip, a wave of heat shot straight through her, leaving her weak-kneed and clinging to him.
The outside world vanished.
The fifty-million-dollar marriage contract vanished.
The threat of Sebastián Montero vanished.
There was nothing left but the slide of their sweat-dampened clothes, the sound of ragged breathing in the quiet room, and the taste of the woman who had turned Revan Caldwell’s entire world upside down.
The kiss went on and on one minute that felt like a thousand years in a forbidden heaven.
Then…
With a ragged, painful gasp, Revan pulled away.
He rested his forehead against hers.
Both of them were panting heavily, their warm breaths mingling in the close, night air.
He looked deep into her eyes hazel-brown, clouded with desire and complete surrender.
Her lips were swollen, red, and thoroughly kissed.
His trembling thumb brushed the corner of her mouth, wiping away the evidence of their kiss with heartbreaking tenderness.
His chest heaved as if he’d just jumped the highest fence in the world.
And then, cold, hard reality crashed into him like a bucket of ice water.
His jaw set hard.
The old fear crept back into his eyes—the primal terror that he would destroy this woman, just as he destroyed everything he ever loved.
He let go of her waist.
He stepped back.
One step.
Two.
Putting a cold, empty chasm between their still-burning bodies.
He looked at her leaning weakly against the cabinet with eyes full of unbearable torment.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” he said, his voice rough, broken, and thick with sorrow.
He turned his back on her, unlatched the door, and walked out into the dark of the barn.
Gone.
Alesya stood frozen beneath the single swinging lightbulb.
She touched her lips, still throbbin
g and burning.
And she realized their first kiss hadn’t been the start of a love story…
It was the official declaration of a war that would destroy them both.