Mary Louise Emerson

Alaura opens the building’s front door to see Xander waiting with his hands in his pockets just beyond the last step. The air is cold but not freezing, carrying the faint scent of the city—pavement kissed by an earlier drizzle, the lingering trace of a distant bonfire, the subtle hints of winter creeping in.

He watches as she slowly walks down the stairs. Just as she reaches the final step, he extends his hand. Not a demand, but an offering. A simple gesture that speaks volumes.

Drawn by an impulse, she takes it, his grip steady, firm—but not overbearing. The contact of skin sends a small, charged pulse through her. His warmth isn’t quite as hot as a human’s. Still comforting, but cooler, like it comes from some other type of energy.

She immerses herself in it—how different he feels, how much his presence should unnerve her.

Seconds later, she steps onto the sidewalk, withdrawing her hand and adjusting the strap of her purse. “So…” she starts, looking up at him. “Where are we going?”

His brows pull together as he studies her reaction before answering. “I’m taking you to dinner.”

“Is it at least close?” She blinks a few times. “My shoes are not meant for walking.”

Whatever briefly disturbed his composure disappears behind another smile. “You just have to walk to the car around the corner.” He gestures up ahead with a nod then offers his arm.

The narrow streets of her neighborhood don’t allow much room for cars to wait idly or park on the curb.

Alaura pauses, glancing down the street, wondering if leaving familiar territory is still a good idea. Instinct tells her to be cautious as she gently places her hand in the crook of his elbow.

Beneath her fingertips, his frame is solid, muscles tight beneath the expensive fabric, but his movements remain controlled as he leads her down the quiet path toward the black town car that’s waiting for them.

Once at the car, he opens the back door and steps aside, his free hand waiting to assist her inside.

With effortless grace, Alaura slides onto the back seat, the black fabric of her dress shifting as she adjusts herself. She crosses her legs, bare thigh brushing against the leather, then tucks her purse onto the seat beside her.

Xander follows, settling in next to her, closing the door behind him. Immediately, his head snaps toward her.

Alaura knows he’s watching her before she even looks. The strange distance in him from moments ago is gone. Completely. His presence feels familiar again.

Turning fully toward him, confusion flickers across her features, meeting his intense stare. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Quiet admiration softens Xander’s gaze. “You are just so beautiful, Alaura.”

And just like that, the nervousness she carried downstairs gives way to a playful confidence, a slow smile touches her lips.

“Even more beautiful than in that black see-through lace nightgown?” His restraint pulls taut at the teasing lilt in her tone.

She’s going to enjoy this.

His admiration hardens into warning. “You were playing a very dangerous game that night.”

“I won, didn’t I?” She says, tracing her fingers along her exposed skin, feeling his eyes gravitate without blinking.

Slowly, he shakes his head. “In more ways than you know.”

Voice edged with wickedness, she responds, “Oh, I know.”

Xander’s eyes narrow at her implication.

Alaura continues, smile sharpening into something sinister. “I know about everything you did to yourself on that rooftop.”

His stillness tells her she’s close to the truth.

Easing back against the seat, she lets the distance grow between them. “I could feel your moan, your satisfaction as you pleasured yourself to the show I put on for you.”

A sharp, deep breath tears through his lungs.

“The satisfaction that overtook you when you climaxed just as I did.”

Knuckles white as he grips the seat, giving her the confirmation she needed.

She leans forward, closer now, and whispers, “And I know you could feel the way my wet fingers swirled in perfect circles right over my sensitive spot at the thought of what I want you to do to me.”

Arousal building in him with every detail replayed, his throat works once before fixing his attention ahead, refusing to speak.

Certain she’s won again, she turns to the window. Unconcerned. Letting him deal with the war waging inside him.

This is too much fun for her.