City Lights and You

The city pulsed beneath her heels, alive with noise and neon. Ariana Moretti shouldn't have been here-not in a place like this, with music too loud, lights too low, and people who didn't care about last names. But maybe that's what she craved.

Wrapped in a crimson silk dress that clung like a second skin, Ariana stepped into the dim alleyway behind the gallery. The air was thick with smoke and secrets. She had come to see him.

And there he was-Jace Navarro, crouched against the wall, fingers stained with paint, eyes catching hers like fire.

"You shouldn't be here," he murmured, his voice husky.

"Neither should you," she countered, stepping closer.

They had met two weeks ago-accidentally. He had been painting a mural on a wall owned by her father's campaign, and she had caught him. But instead of calling the police, she had stayed. They had talked. Then met again. And again.

Now they were breathing the same heat.

Jace stood slowly, towering over her. His gaze slid over her bare shoulders, lingering at the curve of her neck. "You're wearing red."

She smiled faintly. "I wanted to feel dangerous."

"You already are."

He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. His fingers were rough, stained with art and rebellion, and when they grazed her skin, she shivered.