4
1109 Words
Nia’s pov
I could feel everything, the solidness of his chest, the heat of his body bleeding through the thin fabric of my dress, the soft rasp of his breath near my temple. My pulse became a hammer inside my chest, wild and uneven.
I told myself to step away, to laugh it off, to say something, anything, to break the spell. But I couldn’t move.
Rowan’s fingers flexed slightly, as if he knew exactly what he was doing to me. His scent hit me next, that familiar, dark cologne that had once clung to my sheets, my skin, my memories. It was intoxicating, painfully so.
“Perfect,” the photographer chirped, snapping away. “Hold still, yes, tilt your head this way. Beautiful!”
Beautiful.
Gosh, she had no idea.
My entire body was trembling, though I kept smiling, my lips stretched too tightly to be real. Every click of the camera was a reminder of how dangerously close I was to falling into something I’d promised myself I’d never feel again.
Rowan didn’t say a word. His expression stayed maddeningly calm, but I could feel the tension humming in him, that same restraint, that same war under his skin.
When the last flash went off, I stumbled a half step away, desperate to breathe again. My back instantly felt cold without his hand there.
“Lovely!” the photographer said, reviewing her shots with delight. “You two photograph beautifully together. Such natural chemistry!”
I gave a brittle laugh, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Yeah,” I murmured under my breath, not daring to look at him.
But out of the corner of my eye, I saw the faintest shift in Rowan’s jaw, the tightening of it, the way his eyes lingered on me for one heartbeat too long before he turned away.
That single look did more damage than any touch.
I swallowed hard, forcing air into my lungs as the next group stepped forward for pictures.
Before I could even gather my thoughts, Rowan moved. One moment, he was standing beside me , distant, composed and the next, his hand closed firmly around my wrist.
“Rowan…?”
His grip on my wrist was firm enough that I couldn’t yank away, not without looking ridiculous in front of everyone. He didn’t say a word as he threaded through the guests, the world blurring at the edges. A few heads turned, a murmur and I heard Ashera’s startled voice somewhere behind me calling my name. Rowan’s stride didn’t change. He moved like he belonged to the hall itself.
“Rowan…what the hell are you doing?” I snapped, half angry, half breathless. My voice sounded small in that big corridor.
He didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled me faster, around a corner, down a dim hallway lined with old portraits. My heel caught; I stumbled, and he hooked an arm around my waist to steady me. The touch should have calmed me. Instead, it set my nerves on fire.
He shoved open a side door and hauled me inside before I could think. The door clicked shut behind us and, before I could even register the lock turning, he had my back to the door and both his hands on my arms. Up close, the room smelled like cedar and something clean that was all him. It felt too small for the heat between us.
People’s voices faded. The party was a different world away, muffled and irrelevant.
“Open this door,” I said, heart hammering. “Now.”
He didn’t move for a second. He stood there, chest rising and falling, jaw hard. When he finally spoke his voice was low, rough.
“You shouldn’t have come back,” he said, his voice deep and quiet, the sound vibrating through the small space between us.
I stared at him, my heart thudding hard in my chest. “You dragged me out of a crowd, Rowan,” I snapped, trying to steady my voice even as my pulse raced. “You don’t get to say that after making a scene out there!”
He didn’t answer right away. His eyes burned into mine, steady and unreadable, and before I could say another word, he moved.
The distance between us disappeared in an instant. His hands came up, large and warm, cupping my face before I could react.
“Rowan…” I started, but the rest of my words were swallowed by his lips.
He kissed me.
My eyes flew wide, shock freezing me in place. I shoved at his chest instinctively, my hands pushing against the solid wall of muscle beneath his suit. “Stop…” I tried, but my voice came out as a whisper, weak, trembling.
He didn’t force me, he just stayed there, lips soft but sure, the heat of his mouth gentle and searching, as if waiting for me to decide.
And that was the problem.
Because as much as my mind screamed at me to pull away, my body remembered him too well. The familiar scent of his skin, the steady thrum of his heartbeat, the warmth that had always made me feel safe before everything fell apart, it all came flooding back at once.
My hand, still pressed against his chest, stopped pushing. I could feel the rise and fall of his breathing beneath my palm, strong and uneven. My eyes fluttered closed, my lips trembling against his as I gave in for just a heartbeat.
The kiss deepened slightly, and for a brief, terrifying second, I let myself melt.
His lips moved against mine like a memory I couldn’t shake. Familiar, dangerous, addictive.
When he finally drew back, it wasn’t far. His breath mingled with mine, his forehead resting against mine, eyes dark and burning.
“You shouldn’t have come back,” he repeated, voice hoarse.
My lips trembled. “You said that already,” I whispered, even though my voice barely worked. “But you keep pulling me closer.”
His jaw flexed, something raw flashing behind his eyes, and before I could blink, he kissed me again, harder this time. There was nothing careful about it. This kiss wasn’t gentle or patient, it was hungry, desperate, full of everything we’d both buried and pretended to forget.
I gasped against his mouth, clutching at his shirt. The world tilted, my back hitting the door once more, then his hands were on my waist, sliding down to grip my hips, firm, grounding. Before I could even think, he lifted me, strong and sure, and set me down on a high table behind him.
- Writer
