Chapter 68 What's changed
I look at him, baffled by the sudden shift in his demeanor. "Just a while ago, you couldn't wait to run off. What happened to the rush to flee?"
He leans in, just a fraction, his gaze flicking to my lips before locking back onto my eyes. "I’ve had a change of heart," there's a ghost of a smirk playing on his mouth. "Is there something wrong with that? And if I remember correctly, you mentioned something about wine."
He’s playing me, taking the unpredictability of my own tactics and throwing them right back in my face. He reaches out, his palms warm, and starts to run his hands up and down my arms, it's a slow pressure that makes me freeze. I hold my breath, the world narrowing down to the points where he’s making contact.
"Which one?" he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave. "Which arm hurts?"
My pulse stutters. That familiar, dangerous hunger, the one I’ve been trying to starve, wakes up with a violent jolt. I look down at him, my expression sharpening into something predatory. "Why? Wanna kiss it better?"
He looks up at me from under his lashes, a faint, lopsided smile touching his lips. "The left one," I answer, the words coming out shorter than I intended.
He doesn't step back. Instead, he leans in and presses his lips against my left shoulder. He lingers there, right over the fabric of my shirt, his breath hot against my skin. I don't know how to handle this softness, this sudden shift into something intimate that feels heavier than anything we’ve done. That’s the problem. That’s always the problem with him.
Before I can process it, he buries his face into the crook of my neck, his fingers searching for mine until he finds them. He locks our hands together, tight. It’s almost too much, an invasion of my space. The warning lights in my head are screaming, and I let out his name.
"Kaden."
It’s meant to be a command, a boundary. But it comes out as a frayed, breathless invitation. He doesn't move. He stays tucked against me, as if he’s waiting for me to shatter, and it makes me lose my footing.
"I partly followed you in here," he whispers against my pulse, "because I needed to make sure you didn't have someone else stashed away."
I let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh. "Seriously?"
"What?" He lifts his head just enough to speak. "Is that an absurd assumption?"
"Of course it fucking is," I counter, though the bite is gone from my tone.
He goes quiet for a second, then breathes out, his voice so low it’s barely there. "Why?"
I reach up, my hand finding the back of his head. I grip his hair, pulling gently, trying to leverage him back just enough so I can see his face, look him in the eyes, and regain the upper hand. He doesn't budge. He’s heavy and immovable. My heart trips, then settles into a heavy thud. I curl my fingers tighter into his hair and try again, more firmly, but it’s the same result. If anything, he presses closer, tucking himself further into me, making it clear he’s not going anywhere.
My hand drops back to my side. And I stay still for a moment before speaking. "You’re awfully inquisitive today."
"Is it because you’re down bad for me? Is that why it's such an absurd idea?" His voice is edged with something dangerously close to amusement. I scoff and shake my head. I’m not answering that, the second I give that thought shape, I let go of the strings and it becomes something I can’t control. And I don’t allow things like that to exist.
Kaden doesn’t push it, but I feel the shift in him anyway. The way he pulls back just enough to look at me properly. And then...."Do you want me to go home?"
I immediately envision it, the door closing, the taillights disappearing down the long, winding drive, the house swallowing itself back into silence. My lungs seize, it's a physical rejection of the very idea.
"No," the word scrapes against my throat. "I wasn’t really planning on letting you leave tonight." There it is, out in the open. My gaze stays on his even if everything else feels like it’s shifting under my feet. His fingers are still woven through mine, his eyes scanning mine with that haunting intensity.
"Then why were you so ready to have your chauffeur pull up? What's changed?"
It’s not careless or teasing, there’s weight behind it. And underneath that, fear. Like he’s scared I’m throwing him away. I don't want to examine where that fear comes from. I don't want to know why he cares if he’s discarded. It’s too messy, too human, and entirely outside everything I’ve built. And yet here I am, letting the most volatile thing in my life at the moment cling to me in the middle of what's supposed to be my untouchable sanctuary.
What's changed? Common sense, probably. The reminder of how reckless this is. How easily this could spiral into something inconvenient. Something messy that I don’t do. I know better, I always know better.
But then there’s him.
He feels too good, too easy to keep and too hard to let go of. And the way he’s pressed against me, the way he’s looking for a lifeline in my eyes? My logic isn't just short-circuiting, it’s burned to the ground. Deep down, I already know that I’m going to be irresponsible.
I tighten my hold on his hand, grounding myself in the heat of him. "Do you want to stay?"
He stalls. For a heartbeat, the room goes dead silent as he turns the question over. I feel the tension in his frame, a battle between his logic and whatever it is that’s still keeping him here. Then I feel a small, tentative nod, it’s barely a movement, but it’s enough.
"Okay," I say. Just one word, but it sounds like a surrender.
He finally pulls back, taking a small, reluctant step away from me. My gaze drags back to him the second he moves. Something in me has been wired to track him, to notice every shift, every breath, every subtle change in expression. And right now, standing a step away from me, he looks perfect. Annoyingly, distractingly perfect.
There’s a symmetry to his face that shouldn’t exist outside of sculpture or careful design. The kind that makes you look twice without realizing you’ve already been staring too long. It’s clean and balanced. There’s something alive in it, dangerous, even. My eyes linger a second too long before they drop to his chest. To my hoodie.
They catch on the drawstrings. One side hangs a fraction of an inch longer than the other. There’s an itch in my brain. It sits there, wrong and uneven, quietly pulling at the edges of my focus like a loose thread I can’t ignore.
My fingers twitch, a reflexive instinct to reach out and pull, to force the order back into place. I almost do it, my hand subtly lifts, then halts. I force my fingers into a fist, digging my nails into my palm. 'Get him out of this room', I tell myself. Move, do something useful. But I don’t. I just stand there...stuck.
"I haven't eaten since this morning," Kaden says, his voice breaking the spell. He starts to ask something else, but the words blur into the background the second I move. I don’t even consciously decide to, my hand just lifts. They're steady as I catch the ends of the drawstrings, my knuckles brushing the soft wool of his chest. I pull the shorter one, nudging the longer one until they sit perfectly level, perfectly aligned. I feel his eyes on me as I adjust them, smoothing the fabric slightly afterward like that somehow seals it into place.
Once they’re level, I pull my hands back. I shove them deep into my pockets and clear my throat. "There’s bound to be something in the kitchen," I say, my voice sounding a little too thin, a little too hollow.
I’m about to step aside, but Kaden moves first. He reaches up, grips one side of the drawstrings and tugs, just enough to ruin it. The imbalance returns instantly. His eyes are locked onto mine the entire time, like he's daring me to react.