The Christmas lights twinkled in the living room, casting a warm glow over the chaotic scene of Isabella's family gathering. Her brother, Ryan, was laughing loudly at something his best friend, Marco, had just said—some stupid joke, no doubt. Bella rolled her eyes as she leaned against the kitchen counter, nursing a glass of eggnog that was more brandy than cream at this point. She could feel Marco's eyes on her from across the room, and it made her skin prickle with irritation.

Always watching me like I'm some kind of puzzle he can't figure out, she thought bitterly. Marco had been an annoyance in her life since the day Ryan brought him home freshman year of high school. He was cocky, arrogant, and had a way of getting under her skin without even trying. And yet, there was something about the way he looked at her—like he knew exactly what buttons to push—that left her equal parts furious and flustered.

"Bella, come on! You're missing out!" Ryan called, waving her over to the group gathered around the tree.

"I'm good," she replied flatly, taking another sip of her drink. She wasn't in the mood for forced holiday cheer or Marco's smirking face.

But Marco, of course, couldn't resist. "Scared we'll embarrass you?" he teased, his voice dripping with that infuriating confidence.

"Scared you'll bore me," she shot back, narrowing her eyes at him. The tension between them crackled like static in the air, and for a moment, it felt like they were the only two people in the room.

"Uh-oh," Ryan chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Here we go again. You two are worse than an old married couple."

"Don't insult me like that," Bella muttered, but Marco just grinned, his dark eyes glinting with amusement.

He loves this, she thought. Winding me up, seeing how far he can push before I snap. And God, did she want to snap. But not here, not in front of her family. She downed the rest of her eggnog and set the glass on the counter with a little more force than necessary.

"I need some air," she announced, grabbing her coat from the rack by the door. She didn't wait for a response before stepping out into the crisp winter night.

The cold hit her immediately, biting at her cheeks and numbing her fingers. She took a deep breath, relishing the way it cleared her head. The snow crunched under her boots as she walked away from the house, the muffled sounds of laughter and music fading behind her. She didn't know where she was going—just anywhere to escape the suffocating energy of the holiday chaos.

But of course, Marco followed her.

She heard the door open and close, then the sound of footsteps crunching through the snow. She didn't turn around, didn't acknowledge him, but he caught up to her quickly.

"Running away?" he asked, his voice teasing but softer now, less sharp-edged.

"Enjoying the peace and quiet," she replied icily, refusing to look at him. They walked in silence for a few moments, the only sounds the crunch of snow and the distant hum of Christmas carols floating through the neighborhood.

Finally, Marco spoke again. "You know, Bella, you don't always have to be so... hostile."

She stopped dead in her tracks, whirling around to face him. "Hostile? Me? You're the one who's always pushing my buttons, acting like you know everything about me."

He tilted his head, studying her with that same infuriating intensity. "Maybe I do."

Her breath caught in her throat, and she hated how those three words sent a shiver down her spine. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He took a step closer, closing the distance between them. The moonlight reflected off the snow, illuminating his sharp features and making his eyes seem almost... vulnerable. "It means I see you, Bella. More than you think I do."

Her heart pounded in her chest, and she told herself it was anger, not anything else. "You don't know me."

"Don't I?" He reached out, his gloved hand brushing a strand of hair away from her face. The touch was fleeting, but it burned like fire against her skin. "You think I haven't noticed the way you look at me when you think I'm not watching? The way your lips part just slightly, like you're holding your breath?"

She opened her mouth to protest, but no words came out. His gaze dropped to her lips, and suddenly the air between them felt impossibly thick, charged with something she couldn't name.

"Admit it," he murmured, his voice low and rough. "There's something between us. Something you can't ignore any more than I can."

She wanted to deny it, to push him away and storm back to the house. But instead, she found herself leaning into him, her body betraying her rational mind. "Marco..."

Before she could finish, he closed the distance between them, his lips crashing against hers in a kiss that was equal parts desperate and demanding. She gasped against his mouth, her hands instinctively gripping the front of his coat as he pulled her closer. The world around them faded away, leaving only the heat of his body and the taste of whiskey on his tongue.

His hands slid down to her waist, lifting her effortlessly as he pressed her against the rough bark of a nearby tree. She wrapped her legs around him, grinding against the hard length of him that strained against his jeans. A moan escaped her lips, swallowed by his hungry kiss.

"Tell me to stop," he growled against her mouth, his voice thick with desire.

But she couldn't. Because for once, she didn't want to fight this—didn't want to fight him.

Instead, she tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him back to her with a fierceness that surprised even herself. Their breaths mingled in the cold air, their bodies moving together in a rhythm that felt primal, inevitable.

And then Marco whispered, "Fuck, Bella..."