Chapter 37 Midnight Confessions

Chapter 37 Midnight Confessions
Tate

My brain completely shut down.

Kade's lips pressed against mine—warm, firm, with an almost desperate force. His hand threaded through my short hair, fingertips pressing against my scalp, applying slight pressure as if afraid I might disappear.

I should push him away.

I should remind him he has a girlfriend. That I'm his employee. That there's an insurmountable class divide between us.

But I didn't.

Instead, my hands moved of their own accord, climbing up his bare shoulders. His skin was warm and burning under my palms, muscles taut like strings about to snap.

Kade let out a low gasp, as if my touch had released some kind of restraint. His other hand gripped my waist, pulling me closer until there was no space between us.

The bottle of whiskey slipped from my hand, landing on the carpet with a muffled thud.

His kiss deepened. His tongue swept across my lower lip, prying open my teeth, driving straight in. I heard myself make a small whimper, shame and desire colliding violently in my chest.

He tasted like whiskey and mint, and something indescribable—something uniquely Kade Sinclair.

My back hit the door. Somehow, he had me completely trapped between the door and his body. His chest pressed against me; I could feel the rhythm of his heartbeat—abnormally fast, just like mine.

"Tatum," he murmured against my lips, his voice so hoarse I almost didn't recognize it.

That syllable became some kind of prayer in his mouth.

His kiss moved from the corner of my lips, traveling down my jawline. When his teeth grazed my neck, my knees nearly gave out.

"Kade..." I gasped, unsure whether I was asking him to stop or continue.

He jerked his head up, brown eyes looking nearly black in the dim light. Pupils dilated, gaze unfocused, like he'd just woken from a dream.

We stared at each other like that, chests heaving violently, breaths tangled together.

I could see the struggle in his eyes—desire, guilt, anger, and some complex emotion I couldn't decode.

"Fuck," he cursed under his breath, suddenly stepping back as if I'd become something dangerous.

Cold air instantly filled the gap between us. I leaned against the door, legs weak, struggling to stay standing.

Kade turned away, hands braced on the dresser, head lowered. I could see the tension in his back muscles and the violent rise and fall beneath his shoulder blades.

"This shouldn't have happened," his voice was low, each word seeming to squeeze through gritted teeth.

My heart felt like someone had gripped it tightly.

"I know," I heard myself say, my voice trembling terribly.

He turned around, his gaze so cold it made me shiver. The person who had just kissed me vanished, replaced by the eternally distant, eternally walled-off Kade Sinclair.

"This was a mistake," he said, his tone as flat as if discussing the weather.

Each word was like a knife, stabbing precisely into my chest.

I forced myself to straighten my spine, lift my chin. I wouldn't let him see how hurt I was.

"Of course," my voice was steadier than expected, "I understand."

His jaw tightened, a muscle jumping.

"You're Leo's babysitter," he continued, as if convincing himself, "I can't... we can't..."

"I get it," I interrupted, not wanting to hear him finish those words.

Didn't want to hear him say we were impossible. Didn't want to hear him say it was just impulse. Didn't want to hear him say I meant nothing to him.

Silence spread through the room, thick enough to suffocate.

"You should sleep," Kade finally said, his gaze shifting elsewhere, no longer looking at me.

"Yeah," I nodded, bending down to pick up the bottle from the floor, just to give myself something to do.

When I stood straight again, he was already at the door.

He paused for a second, back to me. I saw his hand clench into a fist, knuckles white.

"Tatum," he began, a vulnerability in his voice I'd never heard before.

I held my breath, waiting.

But he said nothing. Just shook his head and walked out.

The door closed softly, leaving me alone in the middle of the room, holding that bottle of whiskey, heart pounding wildly in my chest.

I slowly slid down to the floor, back against the bed frame.

My fingers touched my lips, where his warmth still lingered.

"Damn it," I whispered, closing my eyes.

I had just kissed Kade Sinclair.

Or rather, he had kissed me.

And the worst part—I wanted more.

I sat there for what felt like hours but was probably only minutes, trying to process what had just happened. The taste of him still lingered on my lips. The feel of his hands in my hair, on my waist, burned into my memory like a brand.

This was dangerous. So incredibly dangerous.

I was playing with fire, and I knew it. Kade Sinclair wasn't just out of my league—he existed in a completely different universe. One where people like me were invisible, disposable.

But for those few moments, when his lips were on mine, when his body pressed against me, I hadn't felt invisible.

I'd felt seen. Wanted. Desired.

And that was the most dangerous feeling of all.

Because now that I knew what it felt like, how could I go back to pretending I didn't want it?

How could I look at him tomorrow and act like nothing had changed when everything had changed?

I finally forced myself to stand, my legs still shaky. I placed the whiskey bottle on my nightstand and crawled into bed, not bothering to change out of my robe.

Sleep wouldn't come easily tonight. I knew that.

But I closed my eyes anyway, trying to quiet the storm of emotions raging inside me.

Trying to forget the way Kade had looked at me.

Trying to forget the way he'd tasted.

Trying to forget the way my name had sounded on his lips.

Trying.

And failing.