His eyes hold mine, and for a second neither of us moves. Then he says, very softly, “Usually.”
Heat floods me so quickly it feels almost humiliating.
I look down at my water bottle, at my own fingers wrapped around the plastic, at anything but him. My body is betraying me in every possible way. My breasts ache. My nipples are painfully hard. The wetness between my thighs has gone from a flicker to a pulse, warm and insistent, and I can’t remember the last time a man made me feel anything this strong fully clothed.
He hasn’t touched me. Not once.
And somehow that’s the most erotic thing about it.
I shift again, trying for subtlety, and hear the soft catch in his breathing when I press my thighs together.
My face burns.
He noticed that too.
There’s a silence then, not empty but full. Dense with something neither of us is naming yet. The kind of silence that feels like standing on the edge of a drop and knowing exactly how far it is to the bottom.
When he speaks again, his voice is rougher. “Tell me,” he says, “do you always get this flushed around strangers?”
I look up at him.
That’s not a safe question.
“No,” I say.
“Good.”
My breath catches. “Why is that good?”
His gaze drops, just for an instant, to my mouth. Then back to my eyes.
“Because,” he says, “I’d rather believe this is specific to me.”
Present Day
When I see him tonight, I almost faint.
Not in a dramatic way. My vision just blurs for a second. The room shifts. My knees feel unreliable. I’m standing there in front of Ethan and Camille, already humiliated, already trying not to cry, and then I hear that voice behind me and turn.
And it’s him.
The man from the plane.
For a second, nothing makes sense. I just stare at him. The room, the guests, the candles, Ethan, all of it drops away. I know that face. I know the silver at his temples. I know that mouth. I know the body under the tuxedo because I’ve felt it on top of mine,inside mine, in dreams that still wake me up wet and aching and angry with myself.
And then Ethan calls himFatherand my whole world turns around.
That’s the part that nearly takes me down.
By the time Viktor steps in and shuts them up, I’m barely holding myself together. When he makes Ethan apologize, I’m still standing there, but only just.
Now we’re outside, alone, and somehow this feels even worse.
It isn’t really a hallway. More like a long open passage running along the side of the house. Stone floor. high arches. Cold air moving through from the lawns below. The rain has eased, but the night still smells damp, and now and then a gust slips through and brushes against my face and bare hands. Behind us, through the glass, the dinner goes on in warm light as if nothing happened.
I can’t seem to get enough air.
Viktor is standing too close. Not touching me. Just there. Solid, quiet, watching my face in a way that makes me feel seen in places I do not want seen.
