Nerves flicker through my veins as Elijah takes my hand, guiding me across the open space toward a curved wall of windows that wraps around the entire floor. It’s a beautiful night. A half-moon hangs off to one corner, and millions of stars stretch wide and endless, like the universe is showing off justfor us. Only one word comes to mind when I take it all in—romantic.
I’m so swept up in it that I flinch slightly when Elijah squeezes my hand, bringing me back to the present.
“Would you like something to drink?” he asks, his palm resting gently on my lower back.
The faint smell of coffee lingers in the air, and the aroma brings comfort to my frazzled nerves. “A coffee would be great,” I say, even though bourbon still hums at the edges of my brain like a bad idea in a good suit.
But no.
I need to keep my head clear.
His eyes hold mine for a beat longer than they should. Dark. Intent. Patient. Then he smiles—and something flutters violently in my chest.
Butterflies.
Real ones.
“Come with me,” he says.
I follow alongside him, his hand still resting on my back as he guides me toward the kitchen. It’s a small gesture, but the weight of it anchors me. Keeps me tethered—just enough to stop my thoughts from spiraling too far ahead.
While he turns his attention to an elaborate espresso machine, pressing buttons, grinding beans, working the thing like a pro, I lean against the center island and let out a shaky breath.
The smell of coffee starts to fill the air, rich and earthy. Comforting.
My gaze drifts around the room as I wait, taking in the sleek, modern design of his space. Shiny black cabinets. Stainless steel appliances. And a stunning wall of exposed red brick.
“Alex…”
God.
When has my name ever sounded so filthy?
“Let me give you a tour of my home while we wait for our coffees, sí?”
I nod, happily uncrossing my ankles and pushing away from the counter, asking myself, not for the first time, why hiswhole damn vocabularyhas to be so goddamn sexy?
He heads back through the enormous family room and jets off to the right, where a discreet hallway wraps around a spectacular see-through fireplace encased in earthy bluestone. My sweaty palms run rampant over my thighs.
Nervous habit.
I shove them into my pockets as he taps lightly on each door. “Bedroom, bedroom, bedroom, office, gym, pool, aaaand…”
We reach the end of the sweeping hallway. I pull my hands free and slap them back against my thighs, just as he turns to face me.
“My bedroom,” he softly speaks, voice dropping a whole octave.
And as if that wasn’t enough of a turn-on, he rolls ther, letting it vibrate on his tongue—bedrrroom.
I feel the vibration all the way to my groin.
The word has never sounded so sensual.
I look up at the wooden double doors. A flicker of hesitation apparent in his otherwise fluid movements.
Jet-black eyes land on mine, and I focus on breathing. Slow. Steady. Controlled.
But there’s nothing controlled about what’s happening between us.
