A Winter's Heartbeat

Chapter 7

The moment they stepped out of the club, the cold winter air bit at Leona’s skin, sharp and bracing, but she barely felt it.

Not when Rhyder Vale’s hand was wrapped around hers, warm and firm. Not when her pulse was still thrumming from the moment she had leaned in and whispered, Wanna get out of here?

She should have hesitated. Should have thought this through.

But she was tired of hesitating.

So when Rhyder led her toward a sleek black car idling at the curb, she didn’t pull away. She climbed in after him, settling into the heated leather seat as the door clicked shut.

The silence between them was charged.

The tension? A live wire.

Leona exhaled, glancing at him. “So… your place or—?”

Rhyder didn’t even blink. “Mine.”

The car pulled smoothly into the street, cutting through the city like a shadow, the holiday lights blurring past in streaks of gold and red.

Leona leaned her head back against the seat, exhaling. “This is a bad idea.”

Rhyder smirked. “You say that like it’ll stop you.”

She turned her head, meeting his gaze. It was dark, intense—like he already knew how this night would end, and he was waiting for her to admit it.

And maybe that was the problem.

Because she did know.

She knew the second she saw him at the bar, watching her with that quiet, knowing amusement. She knew the second he reached for her hand. She knew the moment she let him lead her out of the club, out into the cold.

This wasn’t just a bad idea.

This was catastrophic.

And yet—

She still wanted it.

She wanted him.

Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the need to forget. Maybe it was just Rhyder himself—impossible, untouchable, magnetic.

Whatever it was, it had a hold on her, and she wasn’t about to fight it.

So she leaned closer, her voice dropping just slightly. “Are we going to sit here and talk about how bad of an idea this is?”

Rhyder’s smirk deepened.

And then—

He moved.

One second, they were in their own spaces. The next, he was leaning in, his fingers brushing along her jaw, tilting her face up—

And then his mouth was on hers.

Hot. Demanding. Consuming.

Leona let out a soft inhale, her hands fisting into his jacket as his lips moved against hers, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing the taste of her.

She didn’t even register the car stopping, the door opening.

All she knew was that suddenly, they were moving—inside, past a marble-floored lobby, up an elevator that felt too damn slow, their hands never leaving each other.

The moment they stepped into Rhyder’s penthouse, the air changed.

It wasn’t just the shift from the cold winter night to the warmth of his home. It wasn’t even the dim lighting casting long shadows across sleek furniture and floor-to-ceiling windows that showcased the city skyline.

It was them.

The way the space between them felt too small. The way neither of them spoke, yet neither of them moved away.

Leona’s pulse pounded in her ears, but she wasn’t sure if it was from the alcohol or the weight of what they were about to do.

Because this wasn’t just a bad decision.

This was the bad decision.

She should stop. She should think.

But then—

Rhyder turned to face her, his gaze dark and unreadable, his tuxedo slightly rumpled, his tie loose around his collar. His hands were still at his sides, but there was something in the way he looked at her—like he was waiting for permission to ruin her.

And maybe that was why she stepped closer instead of away.

Maybe that was why, when she finally spoke, her voice was lower, rougher.

“No more thinking.”

Rhyder’s lips curled slightly, as if he’d expected her to say that. As if he had known, from the moment she walked into that club, that this was how the night would end.

“Agreed.”

Then he moved.

One second, they were standing a foot apart. The next, she was against the wall, his hands braced on either side of her head, his body pressing into hers.

She sucked in a sharp breath, fingers digging into his jacket.

For a moment, he didn’t kiss her.

For a moment, he just hovered, letting the tension coil between them, letting the anticipation burn.

Then—

He kissed her.

Hard.

Leona gasped into his mouth, her hands fisting into the fabric of his shirt as his lips claimed hers. There was nothing hesitant about it, nothing tentative.

This was possession.

This was reckless, unfiltered want.

Rhyder kissed like he was taking his time, like he had all the patience in the world and none at all. He kissed like he wanted to make her forget every other man she had ever touched, every other moment before this one.

And God, was it working.

Leona barely registered the way his hands moved—one sliding into her hair, the other ghosting over the zipper of her dress.

Then—slowly—he dragged it down.

The fabric pooled at her feet.

She should have felt exposed.

Instead, she felt powerful.

Because the way Rhyder looked at her, the way his gaze flickered with something dark and hungry—it was intoxicating.

She didn’t give him a chance to think.

Didn’t give herself a chance to think.

Instead, she reached for his shirt, yanking at the buttons, her hands brushing against the firm planes of his chest as she shoved the fabric off his shoulders.

Rhyder let out a low chuckle, the sound deep and rough against her skin.

“Impatient?”

Leona nipped at his bottom lip in response, smirking when she felt his breath hitch.

“Shut up and kiss me.”

He did.

And this time, when he lifted her off the ground, she wrapped her legs around his waist without hesitation.

The world blurred.

All she knew was him.

The way he carried her effortlessly, his grip firm and sure. The way his mouth moved down her throat, over her collarbone, teeth grazing against sensitive skin. The way he devoured her, like he was making up for lost time—time they hadn’t even had.

By the time they reached the bedroom, she was burning.

By the time they fell onto the bed, she was gone.