Heat blooms in my chest. My gaze skims down the sculpted plane of his back, across the curve of his ass, down to thighs made to crush and command. It’s almost cruel how flawlessly built he is. A weapon forged for temptation. Every inch of him is crafted to make girls like me forget who we are, and he knows it.
There’s a flicker of a smirk curling at the edge of his mouth as my eyes devour him. He doesn’t turn or acknowledge me, just lets the silence stretch.
I catch his eye in the mirror as he buttons his shirt, and a reckless, needy ache unfurls in me. The silk sheets slide away as I move to the edge of the bed, letting him see every soft curve of my body. My movements aren’t fluid like his. There’s a tremble in my fingers, a clumsy eagerness in how I arrange myself. I’m not good at this—the seduction or games or whatever this is—but I try. Because the thought of him leaving tears through the delicate place where hope still lives.
“You must have ten minutes,” I whisper. My voice catches, but I push through. I wet my lips and force myself to maintain eye contact in the mirror. “Let me take care of you first. You can just stand there, let me . . .” I trail off, cheeks burning but pressing on. “You know how good I can make you feel. How much I want to please you.”
He sighs, a sound caught between exasperation and amusement. “Tempting, sweetheart.” His eyes rake over my exposed body, making me shiver. “But I told you, I have work.”
Somehow, the gentleness in his rejection wounds more than cruelty would. I sink back into the pillows, dragging the sheets over myself. My fingers curl into the silk, twisting tight, knuckles blanching from the force it takes to keep myself intact.
I won’t cry. I will not be that pathetic.
But something must crack across my face, because Alexander pauses at the edge of the room, his hand hovering above his watch, eyes narrowing with faint concern. He turns to look at me and sighs again, quieter this time, less sharp. The mattress dips beneath his weight as he sits, and I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste iron.
His fingers glide into my hair, brushing with unbearable gentleness. “Look at me, Luna.”
I don’t. I can’t. Not until his hand slides to my cheek, thumb sweeping away the dampness I didn’t notice until it’s gone. He tilts my chin upward, coaxing my gaze to meet his, and I blink rapidly, trying to trap the tears before they fall.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, mortified by my display. “I’m being clingy and stupid. I know you have responsibilities, I just . . .” The words die as his thumb grazes my lower lip, silencing me with a touch.
“Shhh.” Alexander’s voice is velvet now, threaded with something far more dangerous than dismissal. “Don’t ever apologize for wanting me. Not that.” His eyes search my face, and whatever he finds there makes his expression soften further. “You’re not being foolish. You’re being mine.”
The possessive note in his voice burns heat through me, searing away the hollow ache of rejection. I lean into his touch, soaking in the gentle brush of his fingers against my skin, the way his presence seems to fill all the empty spaces inside me.
“I just miss you the second you leave,” I admit, the words barely audible. “Is that insane?”
“No, sweet girl.” He dips down, pressing his lips to my forehead. “That’s exactly how I want you to feel.”
Those words should terrify me—the possessiveness, the control, the way he wants me desperate for him. But they don’t.
“Do you . . .” I hesitate, hating how my voice shrinks. “Do you feel the same? When you’re not with me?”
His smile is a secret I’m not meant to understand. “Of course I do.” Then, smoothly, his tone shifts. “It’s Sunday. You deserve to rest, especially after how brilliantly you handled the commercial shoot yesterday. The footage looks incredible, by the way. I knew you’d grasp exactly what we needed.”
“It’s not fair you have to work on a weekend,” I murmur, tracing slow, absent-minded circles along his wrist, savoring the warmth of his skin beneath my fingertips.
His chuckle is low and indulgent. “Just a few meetings to close out. Some details to finalize.” Alexander’s expression shifts slightly, almost imperceptibly. “And Rowe’s being discharged from the hospital today. I’m certain he’ll be in a particularly foul mood, so I need to smooth things over.”
“How is he?” I ask, concern coloring my voice despite everything. “After what happened.”
“He was sedated for two days, but he’s good as new now.” His fingers continue their gentle caress along my jaw. “Dr. Vale oversaw the treatment personally, neutralized the toxin in time. His magical essence has stabilized, and the venom has cleared.” He pauses, a shadow flickering behind his eyes. “But it was close. A few more minutes, and the damage would’ve been permanent.”
Guilt gnaws at me. If Rowe was in that state, then Aria . ..
The thought must be written across my face, because Alexander’s touch shifts, his fingers sliding into my hair, gently massaging my scalp until my eyes flutter half-shut.
“Kian tells me Aria is fine,” he remarks, voice flattened to something unreadable. “A rather miraculous recovery, from what I gather.”
“Good,” I murmur, and to my own surprise, I mean it. For all she’s done—for always overshadowing me, for working against everything we’ve tried to build, for betraying everything our parents believed in—I still don’t want my sister dead. The genuine relief in my voice must please Alexander because his smile softens into something almost tender.
“I should be done by late afternoon,” he says, adjusting his tie. “Why don’t we have dinner together? Just us.”
“Where?” I try not to sound too eager. “We could go to that new place in—”
“I’ll have the chef prepare something in the gardens,” he interrupts smoothly, though his fingers are still gentle on my cheek. “More intimate that way. Don’t you think?”
I swallow the flicker of disappointment. But the rumors at work are already thick enough, no reason to complicate his image further. “The gardens sound perfect.”
