Ace had you backed against a wooden beam of the Moby Freak, his hands braced on either side of you, body radiating heat hotter than the sun. That infamous smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, and a small flame curled lazily at his lips as if responding to the rush of mischief running through him.

He leaned in slowly—too slowly—heat brushing your skin, his breath warm enough to make your pulse jump. His fingers hooked at your hip, tugging you closer until barely an inch separated you. The flame flickered brighter as he lowered his voice, tone rough and low.

“Careful.” Ace murmured, his smirk widening as he looked you over. “Get any closer and I might really set you on fire.”

The flame danced. Your knees weakened. And Ace laughed softly, brushing his thumb over your waist as he whispered. “Told ya… you’re too hot to handle.”