POV – James Ashford
Watching her relax as the first sips of wine touched her lips was intoxicating. The warmth that spread through her cheeks, the softening of her shoulders, the small exhale she didn't realize she'd been holding — all of it made me want to lean across the table and hold her hand. I restrained myself. She was human, delicate, and utterly captivating.
"This wine is… really good," she said, swirling it lightly in her glass.
"I'm glad you like it," I replied, my tone calm but carrying a subtle edge, letting her know I was paying attention to everything. She tilted her glass toward me, our fingers brushing lightly as I handed it to her. I felt that spark, low and electric, and a deep, primal part of me stirred.
After a quiet moment, I asked softly, "Tell me something… have you… had anyone recently?"
Her cheeks colored faintly, and she took a small sip of wine, a nervous pause that made my chest tighten. "I… no," she admitted quietly. "Not recently. I haven't really… been seeing anyone."
"Complicated?" I prompted, leaning in just enough to make the conversation intimate, my voice low, teasing but gentle.
"I guess… I've been focused on work," she said. "And life, I suppose. I haven't really met anyone I… connect with, not in a long time."
I nodded slowly, watching her, analyzing every nuance. "And are you looking?" I asked. My voice remained calm, controlled, though my pulse quickened as I watched her reaction.
"I… I'm open, I guess. But it's hard. Finding someone worth it… it's not simple," she admitted, her fingers tightening slightly around the glass.
"No, it isn't," I said softly, letting my eyes darken subtly. "Someone worth your heart should challenge you… intrigue you… make you feel alive in ways that make it impossible to ignore them."
Her breath caught slightly at my words, and I could see the flush rising in her cheeks. She wants me. She's trying to maintain control, but I can feel it…
"And you?" she asked, tilting her head, curiosity shining in her eyes. "Do you… see anyone?"
I allowed a faint smirk, hiding the depth of desire beneath calm composure. "Not currently," I said smoothly. "I've had… encounters, but nothing worth pursuing. Not until now."
Her eyes widened faintly. The subtle reaction made my chest tighten with an ache I could barely contain.
She took another sip of wine, and I could see the warmth spreading through her, loosening her nerves, softening her caution. She was fragile, human, but with a fire beneath the surface I wanted to awaken.
After a short pause, I shifted the conversation. "My parents…" she began carefully, "they… died when I was very young. Around three years old. I was raised by my aunt and uncle after that."
I listened intently, noting the tenderness in her voice. "My uncle is a doctor, and my aunt is a manager at a multinational in the energy sector," she continued. "They have a son, my cousin, just a year older than me. He followed in my uncle's footsteps and became a doctor too. He and I… we've always been very close. Like actual siblings, really."
Her warmth, the way she spoke about them, her loyalty and love for her family — it made me want to protect her, to hold her close.
"They've always supported me," she said, voice softening, "even though I wasn't their daughter. They gave me everything I could need and more. They always encouraged me to follow my dreams. I've never felt like I was just the niece — I've always been part of their family. Truly part of it."
I nodded, taking in every detail, storing it, wanting to know all of her world. Then she asked tentatively, "What about you, James? Your family… do you have anyone close?"
I let a faint exhale escape, feeling the weight of her curiosity and trust. "I have a close family," I said. "My parents… alive, though complicated. Selene — you know her — my younger sister. Fiercely independent, brilliant, works in law. She's formidable, protective, and always watching, always ready to step in. And my other sister, Livia, is expecting her first child soon. She works in design — interiors, high-end clients. Completely different from Selene, but just as loyal."
I watched her absorb the information, noting the softening in her eyes, the way she seemed to visualize my family in her mind. "They've always been my anchor," I added softly, letting the words linger. "Even when life gets complicated. I trust them implicitly. And they trust me. It's grounding, knowing you have people like that."
I caught her hand lightly brushing near mine as she laughed at a small, amused remark I'd made. The spark of contact, though subtle, sent heat through me, and I had to restrain the low growl that pressed at the edge of my control. She is intoxicating… human, fragile, and utterly irresistible.
I observed her as she sipped her wine again, the warmth spreading across her skin, the flush in her cheeks, the subtle nervous smiles. Every glance, every breath, every pause between words stoked a fire in me I could barely keep contained. Sitting across from her, hearing her speak, revealing pieces of herself… I knew one thing with certainty: this night had changed everything.
And yet, I remained composed, outwardly calm, watching, waiting, savoring every detail of her — every motion, every expression, every delicious hesitation.
The air between us was charged, soft with music and laughter from other tables, yet thick with something only the two of us could feel. She'd gone quiet for a few seconds, her gaze dropping to the glass in her hand as she traced the rim with one fingertip. I could almost hear her heartbeat from across the table — uneven, delicate, human.
I wanted to reach out, to take her hand fully this time, but I knew that if I touched her now, I might not stop. So I let my fingers hover near hers, close enough that the warmth of her skin brushed the back of my knuckles. She looked up at me, caught in the act of her own hesitation, and for a heartbeat the world narrowed to that single look.
"You really care about your family," she said softly, as if testing the sound of her voice in the silence between us.
"I do," I murmured. "They're my compass. But tonight…" I let my gaze linger on her face, "…tonight, I'm rather glad to be somewhere else."
Her lips curved, shy but genuine, and she laughed — that small, breathy sound that had already become my favorite. "You're very good at saying things like that."
"Only when they're true."
Her cheeks colored beautifully, and she looked away, pretending to be absorbed in her wine again. I watched her throat move as she swallowed — too closely, perhaps — and I felt the steady rhythm of control slipping.
We spoke of smaller things after that — the city lights reflected on the restaurant's glass walls, a book she'd been meaning to read, a new café that had opened near her apartment. The conversation was light, easy, and yet beneath every word ran that same pulse of tension, quiet but undeniable.
At one point, the waiter approached to ask if we wanted coffee or dessert. She looked at me questioningly, and I smiled. "Do you like something sweet to end a night?"
Her brow arched faintly, playful now. "Depends on the night."
It was a small exchange, barely anything at all, but it carried enough weight to make my pulse quicken. "Then let's risk it," I said, signaling for dessert.
When the plates arrived — something light, delicate, with fruit and cream — I watched as she tasted it. A trace of cream touched her lip, and before I could stop myself, my gaze followed the movement of her tongue as she caught it. I looked away quickly, but the image stayed, sharp and maddening.
She noticed my silence. "What?" she asked, smiling.
"Nothing," I replied smoothly, forcing composure back into my tone. "Just wondering if you always enjoy things so thoroughly."
Her eyes lingered on mine a moment longer than polite. "Only when they're worth it."
Gods… she's going to undo me.
We lingered over coffee, reluctant to end the evening. She was looser now, laughing freely, teasing lightly when I told her a story from university — carefully edited, of course, omitting the parts that involved claws and moonlight. And still, through it all, there was the unspoken thing neither of us dared name, humming just beneath the surface.
When I finally called for the bill, she seemed almost disappointed, and I felt a strange rush of satisfaction — knowing she didn't want the night to end any more than I did. I stood, moving around the table to help her with her coat, and when my fingers brushed the back of her neck as I lifted her hair from the collar, the contact sent a shiver straight through her.
"Cold?" I asked quietly, leaning close enough that my breath stirred the strands of her hair.
"Maybe a little," she said, though her voice betrayed her.
I smiled, low and knowing. "Then let's fix that."
As we stepped outside, the air was cool and fragrant, city lights flickering around us. She walked beside me, our hands brushing occasionally — every accidental touch setting off that quiet, dangerous rhythm in my chest again.
I opened the car door for her, my hand steady despite the storm inside me. When she looked up at me from the passenger seat before stepping in, her eyes caught the faint gleam of the streetlight, and something inside me snapped taut. She doesn't even know what she's doing to me.
I circled the car, slid into the driver's seat, and for a long, loaded heartbeat, neither of us spoke. Only the soft hum of the engine and the rhythm of her breathing filled the silence.
This wasn't supposed to happen — not with her. Not with someone who made me feel like this.
And yet, as I looked at her, I knew: I'd already stopped pretending I could stay away.