That voice shouldn’t have affected her. But it did.
Three weeks of carefully guarded distance, fleeting glances across the bar, and forced professionalism had only sharpened her awareness of him.
She turned to find Gideon emerging from the low light, sleeves rolled, tie loosened. The shadows sculpted hard lines beneath his cheekbones, giving him an edge that felt both too human and entirely unreal.
“New girl pulls the graveyard shift,” she quipped, dropping a rag into the bin beneath the counter. Her blood betrayed the casual tone, pounding harder with each step he took. “Besides, isn’t this your domain?”
His smile threatened her composure.
“I suppose I haunt these halls enough.”
Then came a pause. Intentional. Weighted.
“Have you seen the rest of the place yet?”
She folded her arms, hoping the gesture masked her nerves.
“What, the kitchen? Supply closet? Riveting.”
“Not exactly.” The tilt of his mouth sent a quiet alarm through her chest. His voice dropped, coaxing. “Come on. You’ve earned the full tour.”
Logic said no.
It was late. The lounge stood empty.
And Gideon Blackwell was as volatile as a lit match in a dry field.
But curiosity, and something deeper—more feral—drew her forward anyway.
She trailed him up the narrow staircase to a door tucked so neatly into the wall, most would miss it. The lock gave way with a soft click. Too sharp in the surrounding stillness.
Then he stepped back.
Not just permission.
An invitation.
A line, crossed.
Arden stepped inside.
And forgot how to breathe.
The private lounge glowed with distilled opulence: green and gold velvet chairs arranged like whispered secrets, a marble bar gleaming beneath a low wash of light. Shelves lined with rare spirits cast golden shadows across polished wood.
It felt sacred. Heavy.
A room that remembered.
She stopped just inside, taking it in slowly. Letting the room settle around her like a second skin.
“Jesus,” she murmured. The word escaped before she could catch it.
“And here I thought the wine cellar was over the top.”
“It’s not pretentious,” he said quickly, like he’d answered that question before.
His presence eased through the space like a shadow returning home. Yet something in him had softened, edges blunted by memory.
