CHAPTER SEVEN
Blue
The second I close the restaurant door behind me, cold night air rushes across my skin, sharp enough to make my pulse flutter with something that borders on triumph. My friends are still inside, probably wondering why I slipped out without finishing my cocktail, but I can't sit at that table another second.
Ever since Red shoved me into that dark corner and growled at me to stop, my pulse has been electric. His eyes, his breath, the way his hand hit the wall beside my head showed me everything I needed to see. And nothing about him resembled the calm doctor who usually pretends he's in control.
He wasn't untouchable tonight. When he chased after Seraphina like a man terrified of what she might've seen, it wasn't because he wanted her.
He ran because of me.
He wants me.
Smiling, I tug my coat tighter, but not for warmth. His cologne sits under my nails that scraped his chest. I inhale it again, pulling it deeper into my lungs.
My ride pulls to the curb. I slide into the back seat, my heart pounding in a slow, hungry rhythm. I angle my body toward the window, my heart thundering not with fear but with a delicious, swelling anticipation that sits low and hot in my stomach.
Streetlights flicker across my reflection as the driver pulls away from the restaurant. It's nothing like the woman who arrived there two hours ago. My hair is slightly mussed, lipstick smudged, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with something no amount of makeup could fake.
Red did that to me.
He put color in my cheeks and made my lips tremble.
The night stretches thin around me, every sound amplified, every sensation sharper, every breath soaked with promises of our future. I close my eyes, giddy with happiness, replaying all of it.
He said my name like a man begging for restraint while pleading to lose it.
By the time I reach my building, my stomach twists with a heat that crawls up my spine and settles in the hollow of my throat. I rush upstairs, practically floating, and the second I'm inside my apartment, I head straight for my bedroom without turning on a single light.
Darkness suits a night like tonight.
I fall backward onto my bed, dress still hugging my curves, coat sliding halfway off my shoulders. My pulse thrums in my neck, chest, wrists, and the back of my knees.
Red's face grows more prominent. The moment he saw me, and the way his eyes widened, then darkened, then dropped to my neckline as if he couldn't stop himself, will forever be sketched into my brain.
I reach for my phone and open my camera roll. A new rush of adrenaline hits me all over again. I scroll through the photos I took at the restaurant when he didn't realize I was watching.
The first one is harmless enough. He's walking in beside Seraphina, posture straight, jaw set, gaze sweeping over the room. He looks every bit the composed, disciplined man he wants to be.
The second tells a different story. It captured the exact moment he saw me. His eyes locked onto mine with a force that punched through the crowded room. Something sharp crossed his expression, and his body tensed in a way that had nothing to do with surprise and everything to do with desire he couldn't hide.
I give myself kudos. I'm a genius for capturing this one, and he should have seen me with my phone barely lifted off the table, but he couldn't take his gaze off mine.
As good as it is, the third photo is my favorite.
He's gripping the edge of the table, knuckles white, like he's holding himself back, and it requires physical effort. His chest is tight, his gaze barely on his date, and there's a tension around his mouth that tells me he's fighting something he's already lost.
I zoom in, tracing the line of his jaw with the pad of my finger. The intensity in his eyes pulls a soft breath from deep inside me, and I press my thighs together, savoring the warmth spreading between them.
He reacted to me.
He chased her out of the restaurant because she caught him wanting me.
Every part of that memory sends a pulse of satisfaction rolling through my body. I toss my phone onto the pillow beside me and stare at the ceiling. My pulse still hasn't calmed. The bruise on the middle of my thigh throbs as if reminding me of what I did for him. I reach down and press it, enjoying the faint ache. The sensation shoots straight through me, awakening a dark, hungry need.
I sit up, unzip my dress, and shimmy out of it. I only keep my panties on and slide under the covers. I grab my phone and open our message thread.
Besides the one message I sent him, it's empty.
