“I hope so.” He exhaled, bone-deep and unguarded. “But it’s not just about him anymore. It’s about what I do with it now. What I make it stand for.”
Their eyes met.
No roles.
No masks.
Just truth.
It was too much.
She turned too fast. Tried to escape the weight. And?—
“Shit—”
Her heel caught.
His hands found her waist, steady and sure.
Heat.
Unyielding. Alive.
Her palms braced against his shoulders. Solid muscle beneath crisp fabric. Anchoring.
His scent—wood, spice, something darker—wrapped around her like a pull she couldn’t name. Her pulse skipped.
“Easy.”
Low. Rough. Dangerous.
She looked up. And everything in him had shifted. His eyes darker, holding something neither of them dared name.
Too close. Too charged.
“Yeah.”
It left her like an exhale she didn’t know she’d been holding.
She eased back, brushing her shirt as if it could remove the echo of his hands.
“Guess I’m not used to floors this exclusive.”
He nearly smiled.
But his eyes? They stayed hot.
“They can be treacherous.”
“Noted.” She reached for calm that wouldn’t come.
“Thanks for the save.”
“Anytime.”
Simple. But it landed with weight.
She should’ve walked.
