“Is not for you.”
She whirls; her breath hitches, sharp, eyes wide with fury, cheeks flushed. Torchlight hits the rapid rise and fall of her chest, silk pulling tight over peaked nipples. Thighs shift, press together once.
Gorgeous.
“You’re interrupting my date, so I’d appreciate it if you let me get back to the table.”
“Not yet.”
She tries to step past. I catch her forearms, gentle but firm, and turn her to face me, holding her there just long enough for her pulse to hammer under my thumbs. Then I release her, dropping my hands to my sides.
“When are you going to admit he’s not the one you want touching you?” My gaze falls to her mouth, then lower. Slow. Deliberate. “Or tell me you still don’t want this”—I gesture between us—“and to walk away from you for good. Your choice.”
Her lips part in a tiny gasp.
“I chose him tonight,” she whispers.
“I know.”
“He’s a good guy.”
“Good doesn’t make your breath hitch like that. Doesn’t make you shake when I’m this close.”
She fists her hands. “This is my first date with Damon. You don’t get to?—”
“I don’t get to do a lot when it comes to you. But I get to remember every night I lay awake, picturing, thinking, of you. Every night here, watching you fight this. Imagining you furious, aching, still mine.”
Her eyes search mine. Shock slices through the anger. Heat climbs her neck, tangled with questions.
Silence falls between us.
I drag a hand over my jaw with a rough exhale. “Go back to him. Let him try to kiss you goodnight, if that’s what it takes to lie to yourself.”
I lean in just enough for my breath to brush her ear.
“But later, when you’re alone in our bed, sheets twisted around your legs, hand slipping down because the ache won’t let you sleep… It won’t be his name on your mind.”
Her knees buckle a fraction before she catches herself.
I step back. Give her the space she demands.
“Go,” I say quietly. “Before I break every rule I’ve set and carry you upstairs myself.”
She turns. Walks away on unsteady legs, hips swaying like they know my grip.
I melt back into the shadows, watching her return to the table. Damon waits—patient, composed.
Forcing a smile, she sits across from him.
I’m not leaving, little one. Not this time.
Chapter Nine
Lyla
* * *
The terrace lights fade behind me as I slip through the villa doors, Damon’s polite good night, Lyla still echoing in my ears like white noise. I force one last smile over my shoulder—tight, practiced—then let it drop the second I’m out of his view.
