Chapter 10
Viola's POV
Viola had just finished a conversation with Sam about boundaries, but the truth was, she wasn't sure she believed in them anymore. Not after the fire she'd felt when Mack had walked into her life.
The bell above the café door jingled, pulling her from her thoughts. Her gaze flickered up, her heart skipping a beat as she saw him.
Mack.
He strode in like he owned the place—slow, deliberate movements that made heads turn. His black jacket hugged his broad shoulders, his shirt just tight enough to show the sculpted muscles beneath. He walked with purpose, each step calculated, and his eyes? They immediately found hers.
A wave of heat rushed through her. She hated how much her body reacted to him, how eager it was to feel his touch, to hear his voice, to be caught in that dangerous orbit he created around her.
He didn't speak as he approached. His dark eyes stayed locked on hers, daring her to look away. His presence was intoxicating, magnetic—and d*mn it, she wasn't sure she wanted to resist anymore.
The tension between them was palpable.
Sam glanced between them and quickly slipped away, knowing better than to interfere.
Viola's heart pounded as Mack stopped just a few feet away. He studied her for a moment, the weight of his gaze making her skin prickle. Then, without warning, he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice to a dangerous whisper.
"Nice to see you again, princess," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear.
She couldn't help the shiver that ran down her spine.
"Not here," she said, her voice surprisingly steady even though her body screamed for him. She wanted to step back, put space between them—but her feet stayed rooted, caught in his gravity.
Mack chuckled, deep and low. "Don't worry. I'm not here to make a scene… yet." He glanced at the door, then back at her. "But I will take a seat if you don't mind."
He didn't wait for permission. He pulled out a chair and sat like he belonged there, his gaze never wavering.
Viola inhaled sharply, gripping the edge of the counter like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.
"I'm not going to bite… yet," he added, his voice teasing.
She crossed her arms, trying to steel herself. "What do you want, Mack?"
"Isn't it obvious?" His voice was low, intimate. "I want you. I want to see how far you'll go. How much you'll let me in before you break."
Her stomach tightened at his words, a dangerous thrill rushing through her veins. She wasn't sure she wanted to break—but God, she was starting to wonder what it would feel like to fall.
"You think you can just waltz in here and—"
"Stop pretending like you don't feel it," he cut her off, eyes darkening. "I see it every time I'm near you. You want me as much as I want you."
Her breath caught. But she forced herself to stay upright. "I don't need you, Mack. I don't need anyone."
He tilted his head, a smirk pulling at his lips. "That's where you're wrong. You're lying to yourself. You've never been more alive than when I'm around."
His words hit too close to home.
"Viola," he said softly, voice like a caress. "You can fight it. But you will give in. I'll make sure of it."
Her heart slammed in her chest. How did he do this to her?
"I don't need your games," she spat, though her voice trembled.
"No games." He leaned back, gaze still burning. "Just truth. You're addicted to me. Same as I am to you."
She hated that he was right. Hated how badly she wanted to give in.
Viola lifted her chin, defiant. "I'm not a toy you can play with."
"No," he said, smile dark. "But I will make you mine."
The challenge between them was suffocating.
He stood—towering, intense. He moved closer, the scent of him sending her senses spinning.
"You'll regret not letting me in sooner," he whispered, lips brushing her neck.
A tremble raced down her spine.
She turned her head, whispering near his ear, "We'll see about that."
His grin widened. Genuine this time.
"You're mine, Viola. No matter how hard you fight it."
The space between them felt too tight. The air charged, sparking with tension.
"You keep testing me, princess," Mack murmured. "But every time you push, I fall deeper."
Viola arched a brow. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, you do."
"You think I want you?" she mocked, though her eyes betrayed her.
Mack leaned in, breath hot. "You want me more than you admit. And the longer you fight it, the harder it gets."
She tried to stay in control. But the game was fraying.
"You're not in control," she snapped.
He smiled darkly. "You say you don't need anyone. But you've needed me from the start."
Her pulse quickened.
"If you think I'll just fall at your feet—"
"I don't want you at my feet," he said. "I want to see what it takes to break you. To make you give in."
She swallowed, cheeks flushed.
"You think I'll just let you have me?"
"Not just have you." His voice dropped. "Own you. The fire. The defiance. All of it."
Her resolve cracked.
Viola stepped back, breathing heavily. She wasn't sure if she wanted to run or stay.
"Maybe I want to be the one in control," she said, lifting her chin.
Mack's smile turned predatory. "You think you are? You never were."
She stepped back again. Needed space. Needed air.
"Get used to it," he said, voice low. "The longer you fight me, the harder it'll be. You'll give in. And when you do, you won't regret it."
The words clung to her skin like heat.
"I'm not that easy," she muttered.
His grin widened. "We'll see about that."
Hours later, his words still echoed—You'll give in. You won't regret it.
She tried to work, to distract herself. But thoughts of Mack lingered. His voice, his gaze, the way he made her feel like she was unravelling.
She could feel him like a shadow—powerful, heavy.
And then he was back.
Footsteps. Doorframe.
"Got a minute?"
Viola turned, arms crossed. "Always got a minute for you, don't I?"
Mack smirked, heat radiating off him. "You can't push me away forever."
"What do you want?" she asked voice barely a whisper.
He stepped close. "I want you. I want to see how long you'll deny it."
She stood frozen, unsure if she wanted to run.
"I don't need you."
"Liar," he whispered.
His hand brushed a strand of hair from her face. The touch ignited something.
"Let me show you," he said. "How much you need me."
Her breath hitched.
"Do you think I'm that easy?"
"No. But I think you're pretending not to want what's already yours."
"Why can't you just go away?" she whispered.
"Because I'm not done. Not until you're mine."
He stepped in—body pressed against hers. The air thinned.
"You don't own me."
"I don't need to. You'll see you can't fight this."
And then he kissed her.
Raw. Hungry. Desperate.
Her hands trembled as they found his chest. She didn't stop him. She didn't want to. Not anymore.
And as the kiss deepened, she knew—she was losing. Piece by piece.
And she wasn't sure she cared.