Mary Louise Emerson

Xander leans back in his chair, not in comfort, but in stillness. One arm drapes loosely along the side, the other bends at the elbow, hand curling over his mouth.

Across the chamber, the server holds the curtain open while Alaura passes through. Once she clears it, he reaches to pull the heavy velvet closed.

“Leave it open.” The quiet order stops the server mid-pull.

Fingers curled around the fabric, he immediately releases it and leaves the curtain gathered against the wall.

With a shallow bow, he retreats toward the kitchen, leaving Xander with an unobstructed view of Alaura sashaying down the dim passage.

Watching the soft sweep of her dress accentuate the sway of her hips. Shoulders rolling subtly with each stride. The low lighting catching the curves of her silhouette, drawing the eye without begging for attention.

His gaze traces along the delicate line of her spine. Down to where the dress plunges deepest, stopping just above the small of her back. He’s greeted by an open palm. Then a small, taunting wave, telling him she knows exactly where he’s looking.

He doesn’t need to see her face to picture the wicked tilt of those deep red lips, even if he can no longer feel the amusement beneath it.

Alaura disappears through the restroom door, leaving Xander alone with his thoughts. Returning to the moment he saw her walking toward the sliding glass door, beautiful enough to test the limits of his control before she came within reach.

Tonight required a restraint he had to prepare for. This was the first time he was entering her apartment expecting to find her awake. On Friday, he had no warning, had to suppress every impulse as it surfaced. But this evening, every trace of desire and hunger remains locked behind a measured stillness.

He could feel her nervousness as she opened the door. The slight acceleration of her pulse. The flutter low in her stomach. Anticipation woven through uncertainty.

After he entered her apartment, he made sure to leave a hairline seam of the night between the glass and the frame. Standing only inches apart, her scent washed over him. Clean skin and subtle perfume. Blood flowing beneath the delicate column of her throat, dangerously close to his diamonds.

Dark, possessive satisfaction moved through him when he saw her wearing his gift. She knows what that necklace means to him, and she chose to wear it.

Her certainty when she accused him of digging around in her dreams provoked a smirk. And when she called it a date, the word drew a chuckle from him, one he let enter his voice when he repeated it back, savoring the embarrassment that followed.

Then she emerged from the closet, and something about her vanished. A void where Alaura should have been. For one disorienting moment, the absence tore straight through his composure. His fingers betrayed him first, twitching at his side before he forced them still.

She stood directly in front of him. He could see her. Hear the soft rhythm of her breathing. Smell the faint salt of perspiration gathering along the back of her neck. Yet he felt nothing. No trace of the nervous woman who entered the closet.

Concern formed across her face when she noticed the change in him. With no explanation to offer, he wrapped the only certainty available to him inside a lie.

Waiting outside, his eyes remained fixed on the door. Unable to feel her descending through the apartment. Unable to relax until she reached the last step. Only then did he offer his hand. Her touch easing a tension coiled deep inside him.

She was there. Real. Warm. Alive. But unreachable in every way that mattered.

He noticed her pause before accepting his arm, attention shifting toward the darkened street, but there wasn’t a flicker of apprehension accompanying it. Silence persisted as he led her to the car.

By the time he settled into the back seat, her presence struck with enough force to snap his head toward her. After being denied part of her, the sudden return stripped away his ability to conceal his admiration for everything that is her. She was so vivid.

Emotion shifted through her with intoxicating clarity. Curiosity giving way to pleasure beneath his praise. That pleasure sharpening into mischief when she realized how deeply she affected him.

The nightgown was the first strike.

Followed by the rooftop.

He hadn’t intended to surrender to her that night.

It had been decades since he touched anyone with that kind of hunger. Decades since he even touched himself.

Then Alaura’s desire poured through their connection, every slow circle of her fingers becoming as tangible as his own hand. Her satisfaction building inside him alongside his own, each wave feeding the next until her climax tore through them both.

Her voice forced him to experience it all again.

Every stroke.

Every moan.

Every detail.

He could feel how much she enjoyed exposing him. Her delight when his breathing deepened. Her triumph when his fingers tightened against the seat.

It was too much.

She was too close.

And that car was too damn small.

The torture only stopped when he stepped out into the cool evening air. An opportunity to regain control before she discovered just how little he possessed.

As he helped her out of the back seat, the blockade to her emotions returned. Alaura ceased to exist so abruptly his fingers released hers before he could stop them.

No gradual fading. No resistance suggesting she was deliberately shutting him out. Just an inexplicable absence where her presence should have been. The pattern made no sense.

Though she was standing near him, she seemed impossibly far. The distance became harder to tolerate as they entered the restaurant.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the way she looked at him when addressed by his last name. She now possesses a piece of him he never offered up.

Deeper into the restaurant, the static continued as he watched her study each curtained alcove. He knew she had questions, but none of them reached him.

The hostess’s quiet confirmation offered the smallest measure of reassurance. His arrangements had been followed. The restaurant was closed to other patrons, leaving nothing to intrude upon their evening.

This was the first time he had brought someone like Alaura into the establishment. The staff understood her significance.

A slight curve of her lips replaced her appreciation when he pulled out her chair. As he sat across from her, frustration tightened his expression. Every effort to understand her only made his scrutiny more obvious.

He had to interpret her like everyone else. Observe her amusement while she toyed with the waiter. The tap of one nail as though she were still considering. The tilt of her head when the server’s recommendation impressed her.

The look she gave him while he considered her request to use the restroom. A challenge concealed beneath courtesy. He didn’t want to let her out of his sight, but also knew he couldn’t say no.

So watched her leave.

Xander lowers his hand from his mouth and stares toward the restroom door, every sense reaching after a woman who isn’t there, waiting for her to return.