“Kiss me,” he breathes the words, lips moving against my fingertips—a whisper, a plea, and a dare all at once.
I step into him, backing him against the door, closing the distance until there’s nothing between us but heat and the barest breath of space. Our lips hover—mine trembling, his parted.
“Christ, Noah,” I murmur. “If I taste your lips again, I won’t be able to let you go.”
“Then don’t,” he whispers, his lips shadow dancing across mine like a ghost of a kiss. “Don’t let me go.”
“Fuuck!”
I slam my fist into the wall beside his beautiful face. The sound cracks through the hallway. He flinches, eyes going wide—startled, shimmering now with unshed tears. And somehow, impossibly, he looks even more beautiful like this. Ocean blue and breaking.
The urge to reach out, wipe those tears away, to pull him against my chest until the tremor leaves his body—it hits me so hard it almost knocks the air out of my lungs. But I hold myground, fingers curling into a fist to keep them from betraying me.
“It’s probably not a good idea,” I mutter, voice rough, splintered, “that you take Elijah up on that drink.”
Each word feels like it’s cutting me on the way out, the jagged edges of my regret scraping against the walls of my chest.
I push off the wall and turn, biting the inside of my cheek as I head back down the hallway, straight for the elevator. My steps are heavy, purposeful. I don’t look back.
I can’t.
Because I already know what I’ll see if I do.
He’ll be standing there.
Still wanting.
Stillhoping.
And still looking so goddamn pretty.
If I see that?
I’ll go to him.
I fucking know I will.
My pretty dancer.
4
ELIJAH
Preparations for Fashion Weekare in full swing, and the city is humming with a constant undercurrent of movement and noise. Fall air has been trying to cut through the sticky heat we’ve been dragging since summer, but the humidity doesn’t want to let go just yet.
I don’t usually work Saturdays, but with the epic event just around the corner, I’m here—helping my staff get everything in order.
New York Fashion Week rolls around twice a year, with invitations sent out well in advance to the biggest names in the fashion industry. Bourbon Bar will be one of many venues hosting an exclusive party for elite socialites. It’s shaping up to be a week full of glitz, glamour, and celebration.
Of course, Alex will be attending as a special guest, and Ana is practically glowing at the thought of going with Emilee. It’ll be her first time attending such an iconic event, and I don’t think she’s stopped smiling since she got the invitation.
“Elijah, mi amor. Are you drinking?”
I look to the side as Gabriel slides in beside me, greeting me with a kiss to each cheek. I breathe in the familiar scent of his spicy cologne and the subtle coconut notes from his soap—a blend that clings to his skin. I can’t help but hum in appreciation.
“Not today,” I murmur against the shell of his ear before pulling back from his embrace. “But I’m sure Emilio wouldn’t mind mixingyoua drink.”
I gesture toward my bartender, who not only works for me but is also a very good friend. Spotting Gabriel, Emilio lights up, striding over with an outstretched hand before pulling him into a warm hug.
