BABY

☆CONNIE'S POV☆

☆☆☆☆☆☆

Simon descended the steps with perfect calm.

Then struck Damon across the mouth hard enough to send a tooth spinning into the gravel.

I jerked back from the window so fast the curtain slipped through my fingers and swung shut between us. My pulse was hammering, but not from fear. Something hotter had taken its place, sharp and unwelcome and embarrassingly alive. Below me, Damon staggered in the rain clutching his mouth, swearing through blood and broken pride. Once upon a time, watching him hurt would have felt like closure.

Now it felt like the opening note of something worse.

I backed away from the glass until the backs of my knees hit the bed and sat down hard, staring at the closed curtain like it had personally insulted me. Damon was the kind of danger I knew by heart. Loud. Predictable. Needy. The sort that announced itself with raised voices and slammed doors. Simon was quieter than that, cleaner than that, and somehow far more interesting.

That was the problem.

Men like Damon taught you how to run. Men like Simon made you curious enough to stay still. I could still feel the image of him stepping through the rain with that awful calm, as if violence were simply another household task he performed well. It should have disgusted me.

Instead, heat curled low in my stomach with all the manners of a house fire.

I stood abruptly and crossed to the mirror, needing something familiar. My hair was messy, cheeks flushed, eyes brighter than they had any right to be. I looked less frightened than entertained, which said troubling things about me I was not prepared to unpack before noon.

I had spent years running from men like Damon.

Then I met the kind of man who made me pause.