Page 22 of His To Unravel (His & Hers Duet #1)

FIFTEEN

nathaniel

The door clicks shut behind us, the sound reverberating through the silence of my penthouse, final and absolute.

I can still hear the hum of the city below—muted car horns, distant laughter, the pulse of life that never ceases.

Yet here, in the insulated quiet, the only thing that matters is Olivia.

She stands just inside the doorway, shoulders drawn and arms crossed, her body wound tight like a spring.

Her presence fills the room, even in her subdued state. A tremor runs through her, barely perceptible, but I catch it, of course. I catch everything. The smudge of mascara beneath her eyes, the tension radiating off her.

My fury, still fresh and acrid in my chest, flares anew.

But the rage was just the tail end of it. What came before was craving. That increasingly relentless need to be close to her.

She picked up my call hours ago, all soft laughter and easy charm—but it was the sight of her that stayed with me. That maroon dress, hugging every curve, slit high like a dare—etched itself into my mind and refused to let go.

She hadn’t mentioned where she was going tonight, but I’m sure it just slipped her mind. Or maybe she didn’t think it was important. I don’t blame her for that, at least not out loud. After all, I don’t expect her to tell me everything…at least not yet .

And I’m nothing if not prepared.

Thanks to the necklace I’ve clasped around her neck, I had her location in seconds: Space Cowboy. The kind of place where men drink too much and stare too long, thinking desire entitles them to touch.

They wouldn’t understand the first thing about a woman like her.

I told myself I’d stay put. I even poured a drink. But my body betrayed me long before my better judgment caught up. One moment I was pacing the kitchen, the next I was in my car driving to her. I had no plan or justification beyond the thrum in my blood that only settles when I’m near her.

By the time I arrived, I was already rehearsing excuses.

Perhaps I’d pretend I was in the neighborhood. Maybe I’d say Tyler had mentioned it and I figured I’d swing by. And when I saw Tyler and Sophie tangled together on the dance floor, relief cut through the possessive knot in my chest. At least I wouldn’t be the only one crashing their girls’ night.

Then I saw her.

The memory of Landon’s hands on her and his sorry attempt at a kiss burns in my mind like a brand.

He dared to lay his hands on what is mine .

The thought sears through me, quick and savage, and my fists tighten instinctively.

The urge to find him and finish what I started burns low and lethal beneath my skin.

But Olivia— my Olivia—tempers the fire.

Her fragility is a salve to my rage, a reminder of what matters most.

I watch as she moves toward the sofa, gingerly lowering herself onto the cushions without a word. Her hands are twisted in her lap, the dim lighting casting delicate shadows across her features.

I step closer, each movement measured, deliberate .

“You can stay here tonight,” I say, my voice low, a controlled undercurrent beneath the quiet storm in my chest. I watch her closely, the flicker of hesitation in her green eyes, the slight twitch of her lips. But she doesn’t argue, doesn’t retreat.

Good girl.

“You shouldn’t be alone,” I add, softening my tone. “I’ll take care of you.” Security is what she needs, what I can provide. What only I can provide.

Guilt flashes in her expression, a shadow beneath the exhaustion. Whether it’s guilt for needing me or for wanting this—wanting me —it doesn’t matter. She will stay.

I move past her, heading toward the bedroom. I don’t rush; giving the moment space to breathe. Every action has to feel natural, every word carefully chosen.

Grabbing one of my shirts from a drawer, I pause, fingers curling around the soft cotton.

As I return to her, I can’t help the small smile that tugs at my mouth with knowing she’ll be wrapped in it, smelling of me.

I hold it out to her like an offering, though it’s so much more than that. It’s a claiming .

“Here,” I say, my tone coaxing. “It’ll be more comfortable than what you’re wearing.”

She hesitates, her eyes darting from me to the shirt, then back again.

For a fleeting moment, I think she might refuse, some last shred of stubborn independence sparking to life. But then her hand lifts slowly, and she takes it.

My pulse thrums as her fingers brush mine, fleeting and electric. I feel the victory in her compliance—not a victory over her, but a victory for us . She belongs here with me. Whether she fully accepts it yet is immaterial.

“Bathroom’s through there,” I murmur, nodding toward the en-suite. “You can take a shower if you’d like. ”

She moves without a word, her steps quiet and slow. I watch her until she disappears from view, the door clicking shut behind her.

Alone now, I exhale, though it does little to ease the tension coiled within me.

My thoughts churn, a tangled web of fury, desire, and determination.

Landon had been a threat, yes, but Olivia’s reaction—her retreat, her willingness to let me take charge—was revelatory.

She was scared and shaken, and she had turned to me .

The fragile balance between us is tilting, subtly but surely, in my favor. She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s learning to trust me, to see me as her constant. And I will make sure she never feels the need to stand on her own again.

Soon enough, the door to the bathroom creaks open once more and my breath catches.

She emerges through the haze of steam, her damp hair clinging to her shoulders, the soft cotton of my shirt draping over her curvy frame. It’s a sight I have envisioned countless times, but the reality is far more potent than any fantasy.

The scent hits me first—my soap, my shampoo, warm and clean on her skin. Familiar, but not the way it used to be. The shirt brushes mid-thigh, leaving long stretches of bare skin exposed. She’s stunning, raw in her vulnerability, and never more mine.

Something primal roars to life within me. Possession. Desire. Triumph.

The mix is heady and intoxicating, and for a moment, I forget to breathe.

Her eyes find mine, uncertain but unflinching.

They are darker now, shadowed remorse that she doesn’t deserve to carry.

She takes a tentative step forward, then another, until she stands just feet away, close enough for me to see the faint sheen of moisture on her skin, the slight tremor in her lip before she speaks .

“Nate,” she begins softly, her voice thick with regret. “I’m sorry…for tonight. For everything.”

The words gut me. Landon’s transgressions are his own, and hearing her apologize again ignites a desperate need to make her understand that she has nothing to feel sorry for. That it’s not guilt she should feel, but relief that I was there to protect her, and that I always will be.

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” I say, a rasp of control threading through the words. “None of this is on you, Olivia.”

She bites her lip, her eyes welling with something too complicated for either of us to name. “If I hadn’t gone out… If I hadn’t?—”

“Stop.” My voice cuts through the tangle of her guilt, low but firm. “Don’t carry what isn’t yours. I was there. I will always be there.”

She blinks up at me, the hint of uncertainty softening into something closer to trust.

“I’m scared,” she whispers. The confession slips out like a secret she hadn’t meant to share.

I reach for her, cupping her cheek, letting my thumb trace the delicate line of her jaw. “You don’t have to be. Not with me.”

Her breath stutters. “It’s not just tonight. It’s everything. It’s how fast this is happening. How much I feel.” She looks up at me. “I don’t know how to slow it down, and that…scares me.”

My heart kicks hard against my ribs. Not fear of me—fear of herself. Fear of how deeply she’s already tangled herself in this, in us .

“Olivia,” I murmur, her name a plea and a command all at once. “You don’t understand what you mean to me. What I need you to be.” I reach for her, cupping her jaw and pulling her close to me.

Her brow furrows, confusion and something deeper flickering in her gaze. “Nathaniel…”

I lean closer, pressing my forehead to hers. “I need you to be mine. Completely. Not just for tonight, but always.” The words tumble from me, rough with the memory of another man’s hands on her. “I can’t—I won’t—share you. Not with anyone. Not with anything.”

Silence stretches between us, taut and trembling like a wire about to snap. Her lips part again, and I brace myself for rejection, for resistance, for anything but what comes next.

“Nate…” she whispers. “I meant what I said.”

One of her hands curls into the fabric of my shirt, clutching just over my heart. Her other slides up to cup the back of my neck, narrowing the space between us.

“I’m already yours.” It lands like a promise.

Then, she leans in and presses a kiss to my jaw, soft and sure, and I feel it everywhere.

The room tilts, my world collapsing and rebuilding in the span of a heartbeat.

Relief courses through me, sharp and overwhelming, matched only by the triumph that surges in its wake. Her words aren’t just an admission; they are a surrender, and I will accept nothing less.

Before she can say anything else, I crush my mouth to hers, the kiss demanding and insistent, leaving no room for doubt. Her grip on my shirt tightens as though it is the only thing keeping her upright. I deepen the kiss, pulling her flush against me, reveling in the way her body molds to mine.

When I pull back, her lips are swollen, her breath ragged, her eyes glassy with need.

“Come with me,” I say roughly as I bend and scoop her into my arms.

She gasps but clings to me without hesitation. And that act—her silent surrender—breaks something open inside me.