I fist my fingers together, nails digging into my palms just to keep from reaching out and grabbing at him like I desperately want to.
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed,” he murmurs.
My pulse stutters, tripping over itself. “Noticed what?”
A corner of his mouth tilts upward. That familiar, dangerous grin slides back into place, and it feels like both a warning and an invitation.
His eyes glint in the warm lighting. “The way you’ve been eyeing us up and down all night.”
For a second, I forget how to breathe.
Us.
Not just him.Us.
How the hell did he know that?
Have I really been that transparent? I thought I’d been careful keeping my gaze elsewhere, maintaining a polite distance and pretending that the tension in the room wasn’t slowly pulling me apart from the inside out.
But maybe that’s what gave me away.
Maybe my restraint had become its own kind of confession.
“What?” It comes out softer than I intend, more breath than voice, shaky enough that it betrays me instantly.
“You heard me.” His voice drops to a whisper, brushing soft and warm against my face, close enough that I can feel the faint tickle of his breath on my lips.
The playfulness is still there, but it’s threaded with something else now. Something I’m too afraid to name. “Every time you thought no one was looking, I was. Admit it, Noelle. No one’s going to hold it against you.”
My mouth parts, but no sound comes out.
The words I should say:you’re wrong,you’re imagining things,I wasn’t, don’t say any of thatdie on my tongue before they even cross over my tongue.
All I can feel now is the rush of blood in my veins, the thrum of my heartbeat pounding against my ribs.
The warmth pooling low in my stomach is dizzying, nearly unbearable. My skin feels too tight, too hot, like my own body’s trying to split itself wide open.
His eyes track it, slow and unhurried, the corner of his mouth curving like he’s watching something unfold exactly the way he predicted.
I shake my head, forcing the smallest laugh, my voice barely above a whisper. “You’re imagining things.”
His eyes drop briefly to my lips before finding mine again. “Prove it.”
The challenge hangs in the air.
Every instinct screams at me to move—to step back and break the tension before it morphs into something I can’t take back. But my body won’t listen.
My feet stay rooted to the floor, like they’ve forgotten how to move.
My pulse pounds at the base of my throat, loud enough to drown out every rational thought.
Some traitorous part of me wants to see what he’ll do next. Whatever he’s planning, whatever line he’s thinking about crossing, I can already feel myself leaning toward it.
The rest of the world seems to fade, leaving just him and the weight of his stare, the tension pulling taut between us.
“Dean.” Grant’s voice slices through the air, snapping us out of the moment. “Back off. You’re making her uncomfortable.”
While quiet, the words are firm, carrying the kind of authority that doesn’t need to be shouted to be heard.
