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“What did they say?”
The vulnerability on her face tears at my heart. I’d do anything to take that fear from her, to replace it with that dazzling spark that knocks the air from my lungs every time I see her. Even now - with mascara smudged beneath her eyes, her beauty still captivates me – perhaps even more so now in its unguarded fragility.
“Someone will come by tonight,” I say quietly. “But it might be a while.”
She nods, hugging her arms around herself and something shifts within me. A powerful, almost primal protectiveness I haven’t felt inyears. It anchors itself deep in my chest, pulling me towards her, the space between us suddenly intolerable.
I take two steps towards her, pulling her into a hug, holding her tight to my chest. She melts into me without hesitation, her fingers curling into my shirt like she needs something to hold on to.
I rest my chin on the top of her head and close my eyes for a beat, grounding myself in the feel of her. The steady rise and fall of her breath. The slight tremble in her body that is slowly starting to ease.
I don’t say anything. I just hold her. Because right now, that’s what she needs. What we both need.
As much as I try to bury the image of the man on the ground – shove it deep into the corners of my mind where it would only resurface in my darkest moments, I’m glad she made the call. It was the right thing to do. Necessary. But that doesn’t stop the whirlwind in my head.
The evening has been a mindfuck of emotions. Fear. Shock. The split-second panic –were we seen? Followed?The need to get Lila to safety. Then the absolute heady rush of having her, here, in my house, followed by the gut-wrenching knowledge that this is not how tonight was supposed to end.
I exhale a long breath and tip my head back, staring at the ceiling like it might offer answers.
“Right,” I say, my arms releasing her as I take a step back and slip out of my coat, hanging it on the banister. “Would you like something to drink?”
“Yes, please,” she says, taking off her coat and hanging it on top of mine. Andfuck, she’s still wearing that dress that makes it impossible to think about anything else.
I clear my throat and open the door to the living room. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.”
I walk to the kitchen and hesitate for a moment. Coffee? Or wine?
After a brief internal debate, I go with the wine. Quicker to pour.
I fill two glasses and bring them back through to the living room, where Lila is standing by the bookshelf, her fingers brushing along the metal figurine of a man holding a golf club.
“You play golf?” she asks, glancing over her shoulder.
I can’t help but smile at the sight of her in my space.
“A bit, with my dad,” I tell her, setting the glasses down. “We played a few rounds for his birthday one year - he spotted it in the shop and liked it, but mum would kill him before she let him put it anywhere, so he bought it for me instead.”
She smiles. “It’s cute.”
“You’re cute,” I say without thinking, and step closer, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear – just like I did earlier tonight.
I lean in and press my lips to hers, soft and gentle. Her breath catches, her hand coming up to rest on my chest. She doesn’t pull away, but I don’t push either. I just hold us there – suspended in the moment, wishing it could be enough to erase the night behind us.
Eventually, she eases back, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips, but her eyes are still wracked with fear, and it fucking pulls at my heart. I wish there was something I could do, anything to make that feeling go away.
She sighs softly, then crosses to the coffee table, picking up her wine glass as she sits down on the couch. I follow, settling beside her and stretching my arm around her shoulders. Her leg presses gently against mine, and when she rests her head on my shoulder with a long, quiet breath, something warm stirs in my chest.
I lean back, trying to get comfortable, but the sharp cold edge of my belt buckle bites into my stomach, making me draw my core in to escape it. Suddenly feeling very uncomfortable in my clothes, I shift forward to the edge of the cushion, remembering the operator said it could be a few hours before someone is able to come by.
“I’m just going to change into something a bit less formal, if that’s alright with you?”
She nods and I press a quick kiss to her forehead and stand, stretching my arms up over my head. Knowing the move would lift my shirt just enough to reveal the lower part of my abs, I glance down at her and sure enough – there’s a slight blush creeping across her cheeks as she pretends to look away.
I catch a glimpse of the lacy black outline of her bra within the low neckline of her dress. Her skin is smooth, inviting, and the curve of her breast, the soft rise and fall of her chest with steady breaths – it’s enough to make my pulse quicken and make restraint feel like an increasingly fragile thing.
My gaze lingers on her a moment longer, reluctant to tear my eyes away, when she shifts, crossing her legs in a way that makes it clear she’s not particularly comfortable either.
As much as I could easily spend the rest of the evening admiring her in that dress, the last thing I want is to add to her discomfort. The shock is still heavy in her eyes. She doesn’t need to feel self-conscious on top of everything else.