Description

Desire is rarely loud. It's not the crash of thunder or the blaze of fire; it's the soft hum beneath the skin, the pulse that quickens when someone steps too close. Maria had lived long enough to know the difference between lust and gravity. Lust burns fast, leaving smoke. Gravity pulls you slow, until you're wrapped in it and there's no escape.

Jacob didn't look like temptation at first. He looked like trouble disguised in quiet confidence—a man who filled a room not with words but with weight. One glance, and her pulse betrayed her. One smile, and her body remembered what it had forgotten: what it was to ache.

It was never supposed to be a game. Not until she realized he'd let her make the rules. And when a woman like Maria plays, she doesn't play soft. She bends until something breaks.