Chapter Fourteen - Silk & Smoke
1010 Words
Avery stood in front of the mirror and didn’t flinch.
Her dress was deep wine-red, barely clinging to her body, delicate straps threatening to slip off her shoulders. It hugged every curve—elegant, seductive, lethal in its simplicity.
She lined her lips with precision, painted them with the same red as the dress.
A finishing blow.
The heels were sharp. The perfume warm and lingering. Her hair, soft waves down her back.
She looked like a woman who knew exactly what she wanted.
Because she did.
This wasn’t about trying to be someone she wasn’t.
This was about reminding him of who she’d always been—beneath the discipline, the fire, the resistance.
And tonight, she’d turn every stare in that goddamn clubhouse into a blade.
She’d wear temptation like armor, and Colt Mercer would be the first to bleed from it.
The moment she walked into the main room, the chatter slowed.
Every man looked.
Some stared.
A few had the good sense to look away.
But Colt didn’t look at all. Not at first.
He was at the bar, leaning back against the counter, talking low with Cal and someone Avery didn’t recognize. His eyes were focused. Steady.
Until she walked closer.
He felt her first.
Then he saw her.
And for the first time in a long time, he froze.
Just a flicker.
But she saw it.
His jaw tensed. His conversation stopped mid-sentence. Cal followed his line of sight and blinked like he’d just been hit in the face with something electric.
Avery didn’t smile.
She didn’t have to.
She walked past them with grace, hips swaying, not sparing a single glance.
Colt’s stare followed her like a shadow.
She took a seat on the worn leather couch in the corner, crossing her legs slowly, deliberately. She ran one finger along the rim of her glass of water, waiting.
Daring.
Minutes passed.
Then Colt moved.
Not rushed. Not loud.
But purposeful.
He didn’t sit next to her.
He stood in front of her.
“You trying to start a war?” he asked, voice low enough for her ears only.
She looked up at him through her lashes.
“No,” she said. “Just making sure you remember who you belong to.”
His nostrils flared.
“You think I’ve forgotten?”
“I think you’ve been comfortable.”
He leaned in slowly, close enough that she could smell the smoke and whiskey on his breath, feel the heat radiating from his skin.
“I haven’t touched another woman since you came back.”
“I know,” she whispered. “But that doesn’t mean they don’t still dream about you.”
His hand curled into a fist at his side.
She tilted her head.
“I want them to know you’re not a dream anymore,” she said softly. “You’re mine.”
He exhaled a quiet curse. “You’re playing with fire.”
“No,” she said, standing slowly so their bodies nearly touched. “I am the fire.”
And then she brushed past him, lips grazing his jaw without touching skin.
A silent promise.
A war declared.
Colt didn’t follow her.
He let her walk away.
Avery moved through the room like sin wrapped in silk, aware of every set of eyes clinging to her hips. She’d won that round—she could feel it in the way his pulse kicked under his skin, the sharp rise in his breath when she brushed his jaw.
But he didn’t chase her.
And that unsettled her more than she expected.
She sat again. Waited.
He didn’t come.
Ten minutes passed. Then twenty.
She caught glimpses of him—still at the bar, still calm, still in control. Laughing now with someone, sipping from a bottle like she hadn’t just lit a fire in his bloodstream.
He wasn’t ignoring her. He was holding back.
Because he could.
Because he wanted her to come to him now.
She hated how well he’d read her.
By the time Cal returned with a message that Colt “wanted her in his office,” she felt the irritation curling in her gut like heat.
She didn’t hesitate, though.
She climbed the stairs, heels sharp against the wood, heart hammering. When she reached his door, it was already cracked open. She walked in without knocking.
Colt stood by the window, back to her, jacket tossed over the chair, sleeves rolled to his elbows.
He didn’t turn around.
“You wore that dress for me,” he said.
She closed the door behind her. “Obviously.”
“And you thought I’d drag you into some corner, f**k you hard, make a point.”
“I wouldn’t have objected.”
Now he turned.
His gaze pinned her. Hard. Slow.
“You think s*x is how you win with me?” he asked quietly.
She opened her mouth—then shut it.
Colt walked toward her, slow and sure, until they stood chest to chest again. He didn’t touch her. Didn’t need to.
“I can take you any way I want,” he said. “You know that.”
“I know,” she said, chin tilting defiantly. “But you didn’t.”
“No,” he agreed. “Because I want you thinking about it. About what happens when I finally give in. About how it’s gonna wreck every little power play you’ve got stored in that pretty head of yours.”
Her breath hitched.
Colt leaned in, mouth brushing just beneath her ear.
“You want me to lose control?” he whispered. “I want you to beg.”
Then he stepped back, opened the door behind her.
“You’re dismissed.”
Avery didn’t move for a second. Her blood was lightning. Her skin was on fire. Her pride was in shreds.
He’d flipped it.
Flipped her.
And he knew it.
When she finally walked out—spine straight, heels clicking—her whole body was trembling with fury.
And want.
Mostly want.
- Writer
