The car rolled to a smooth stop. There was a faint jolt, then silence as the engine died out.
The door opened.
A rush of cold night air flooded in. It hit her skin like ice. But inside her body, the fire raged on. That cold—it vanished the moment it touched her. Swallowed by the heat boiling in her veins.
Then James was there again.
His figure blocked out the world. He leaned down, and the sharp, clean scent of him wrapped around her like fog. His arms slid beneath her knees and back, firm and unshaking.
Her body rose into the air again. Lifted so effortlessly it almost felt unreal.
The marble floor beneath them was hard. Cold. The chandelier above was blurry, shapeless, casting a silver glow over everything. The air smelled sterile. Expensive. Distant.
The elevator doors slid open without a sound.
James stepped inside, still holding her.
The mirrored walls reflected them—twisted and intimate. Two bodies pressed together. Tangled in silence.
He looked rigid. Tall. His jaw was tight, clenched like he was barely holding something in.
She looked limp. Drenched. Like a vine without roots. Her arms clung to him without grace, her body small against his.
That fire inside her—it flared up again. Harsher. Wilder.
She twisted in his arms, skin fevered. Her legs shifted against his hips, moving without control, desperate to ease the ache.
His arms tightened around her, suddenly, instinctively.
She heard it—a sharp breath. A grunt. Low. Nearly silent. But she felt it rumble in his chest. Felt the muscles beneath her press harder, tense.
Then ding—the elevator doors slid open again.
James stepped out.
His pace quickened. Every stride large. Determined. He carried her through the wide space, bathed only in moonlight. Shadows stretched around them, but he didn't stop.
Then—thud.
He laid her down. Gently. On a massive bed that seemed to swallow her whole.
The mattress was soft. The sheets were cool against her burning skin.
But the relief didn't last.
The heat surged back stronger than before. Like the sheets had only dared to soothe her and were now being punished.
She blinked up.
James stood over her. Still. Silent. The moonlight cut across his face, carving him out like a statue made of shadow and bone.
He pulled out his phone.
The moment the screen lit up, she flinched.
That white light was too sharp. Too loud against the dark.
No.
The thought struck her like lightning.
Don't call.
Don't bring anyone else into this.
She reached out. Her hand flailed until her fingers finally latched onto his wrist. Tight.
"No…"
Her voice was destroyed. Barely there. Scratchy and broken.
James looked down at her. His expression unreadable.
"Jenny, I need to call a doctor," he said. His voice was low. Controlled. But strained.
Doctor.
That word meant nothing to her now.
She didn't want a doctor. She didn't want medicine. She didn't want anyone else.
She wanted him. Only him.
The only cool thing in her burning world.
With one last burst of strength, she yanked his wrist.
He lost balance. One knee landed on the bed.
In an instant, he was close. So close.
She leaned up—no, she lunged. Her lips found his jaw. Then his cheek. Then his mouth.
It wasn't a kiss.
It was desperation. A drowning soul reaching for the only breath of air.
Her hands clawed at his shirt. Tugged. Tore.
She needed to feel his skin. That coolness. That salvation.
"It's hot…" she gasped. Her voice cracked with a sob. "It hurts…"
James's breathing broke.
He grabbed her wrists. Hard.
But his grip softened the moment their skin touched. His hands trembled slightly.
"Jenny… come back to me," he said. "It's me. It's James."
His voice didn't sound like his.
It was hoarse. Raw. Like he'd swallowed glass.
But she didn't hear him. Not really.
The drug had wiped her clean. Left behind nothing but want. Need. Instinct.
She struggled in his grasp. Twisting. Squirming. Her body begged for something—anything—to put out the fire.
It spiraled out of control.
James cursed under his breath.
Then suddenly—he moved.
He scooped her up again. No warning. No words.
He slung her over his shoulder. Her world flipped upside down.
Then they were moving.
Fast. Determined.
Another room.
Click.
Lights. Bright. Harsh. Everywhere.
A bathroom.
He set her down but didn't let her go.
One arm held her tightly against him. The other reached for the faucet.
"Shhh—"
Water thundered from the tap. Cold. Furious. The sound echoed, sharp against the tile.
He turned it off when the tub was full.
Silence again.
Then—he stepped in.
With her.
Fully clothed. Still holding her. Still steady.
The cold hit like a blade.
She gasped. Her body locked up. The ice bit into her skin, shocking her nerves back to life.
Finally.
The fire met its match.
She whimpered, curling tighter against him. Her face buried in his chest. Her arms trembled.
The water rose to her waist, stealing her breath and giving it back at the same time.
Her mind blinked. Like a computer resetting.
For the first time all night—she could think.
It still burned. But she could feel something else now. Not just the pain.
She looked up.
He came into focus.
His face. His eyes.
Water dripped from his hair. Trails ran down his cheeks. His jaw was locked. But his eyes—God, those eyes.
They held everything.
Anger. Worry. Restraint. Desire.
He didn't look away.
He held her like she might vanish.
"James…"
Her voice was quiet. But clear.
It wasn't just a name. It was recognition. A plea. A memory.
She raised her hand. Her fingers brushed his face.
Cold skin. Real skin.
Her eyes widened. Like she was seeing him for the first time.
She leaned up.
Her lips touched his. Light. Testing. Like asking a question with no words.
His body froze.
His arms tensed, like he might push her away.
But he didn't.
He sighed. Low. Shaky. Defeated.
Then—his lips parted.
Her warmth poured into him.
She tasted his breath. Mint. Water. Whiskey.
His tongue brushed hers. Barely. Soft. Curious.
Then the kiss deepened.
The water rippled around them. Splashed.
Her arms wrapped around his neck. Her fingers tangled in his wet hair.
His mouth devoured hers. Urgent. Rough. Starving.
But even now—he held back. One hand braced her head. The other held her body close, but not low.
He kissed her like she was the only thing keeping him breathing.
And maybe she was.
The bathwater, once icy, warmed around them. Slowly. Like the heat between them was stronger than the cold.
Outside, the night deepened.
But in that room—time stopped.
And they burned. Together.
In the cold water, fire and ice collided—two broken souls reaching for something real.Their walls came down, but the questions remained.Can trust rise from ashes? Or will the past drown them both before dawn?