Chapter 27

Eliora's POV

I was drowning in velvet darkness. His strong hands gripped my waist, pulling me closer. The air tasted like mint and fear. His mouth descended, finally silencing the question I had screamed: Are you going to forcefully kiss me again? But this time it wasn't forceful at all. It was hot, desperate, and tasted like regret. I reached up, tangling my fingers in his dark, loose hair...

"Eli! Wake up, sleepyhead!"

The world exploded into bright light and the jarring sound of Zoey’s voice. I gasped, sitting bolt upright in my queen-sized bed. My heart was pounding, thumping a desperate rhythm against my ribs.

I dragged my hands across my face, feeling the lingering ghost of Kian's lips and the sticky warmth of sleep.

It was just a dream. It felt so real.

Zoey was standing at the foot of the bed, holding a travel mug, her head tilted, and her eyes sharp.

"Why are you all red, Eliora?” She narrowed her eyes. “Is there something you are not telling me about?”

I blinked, trying to clear the intense memory of the dream. "What are you talking about?" I asked, my voice still thick.

Zoey set the mug down on the bedside. "You were having a very energetic dream,” She emphasized the energetic. “Eliora. You were clutching the pillow like it was a lifeline, and your face is the color of a ripe tomato.”

She folded her arms and continued, “Don't tell me it's a man you went to see for three nights straight." Her eyes shone with some kind of realization.

My cheeks felt instantly hot. The heat wasn't from the dream; it was from the guilt of the lie and the reality of the past 72 hours.

"It was not a man," I huffed and lied, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. "I was just tired. You know my face gets hot and red when I'm tired."

Zoey raised a perfect brow. "When you’re tired, you look like a Victorian ghost, Eli. This? This is the face of a woman who just had a very satisfying experience." She grinned, teasing me.

“Get away from me, Zoey.” I waved my hands at her dismissively.

“No, Eliora, you have to tell me with whom you have been, and where you have been.” I could see the excitement buzzing off her.

I ignored her, walking quickly to the window. "I need to get to the office. I can't stay cooped up here."

I managed to get Zoey out of the room after promising her details on the "monumental work progress" I was supposedly making with Kian. Finally alone, I leaned against the door, the memory of the dream rushing back.

The intensity of the last night was real, but the kiss was pure fantasy. Yet, I couldn't seem to get the thought of him kissing me off my mind.

---

I closed my eyes, and the true memory of the night the tension broke flooded my mind.

Flashback

Kian stood over me, his face close, his eyes burning with intent. "Is the outburst of a forceful kiss business?" he had asked, his voice low, dangerously close to a growl.

He leaned closer. I felt the powerful drag of his presence, the way his pain and his desire warred. My whole body stiffened, waiting for the impact. I felt a surge of panic mixed with a desperate longing to just let go. He was going to kiss me. I could smell the leather of his clothes, the faint antiseptic on his skin. I held my breath; my lips tingled, anticipating the familiar, sharp taste of him.

Then, just as his lips were a breath away, his head suddenly dropped. He groaned, a deep, real sound of suffering, and his injured side gave out. He swayed and then went completely limp, passing out on my shoulder!

He freaking just passed out?

I called out to him, but no answer. I caught his dead weight. He was heavy, but the adrenaline was pumping. I spent what felt like forever pulling his dead weight across the carpet, fighting with the large, thick duvet, and tucking him in bed like a child.

Kian started running a fever shortly after. I couldn't just leave him, even if he deserved it for not going to the hospital. I spent the next two nights—Saturday and Sunday, sleeplessly managing his temperature, running for cold towels, and forcing him to drink water.

I ended up calling Drew, who was shocked to see me there, to keep watch of him so I could leave early in the morning.

---

End Flashback.

"Ughhh Elioraaa, get a hold of yourself. He practically turned you into a nurse." I huffed, slapping my cheeks lightly. The relief that the kiss hadn't happened was overwhelming, yet the fact that I remembered every detail of taking care of him, the slight curl of his hair when wet, the roughness of his stubble was maddening.

I grabbed my bag, ready to escape the gilded cage.

As I was about to open the front door, a knock sounded. A security guard was holding a large, elegant bouquet of flowers.

Deep crimson roses, not just any red—the exact shade I always preferred. But the card didn't have a sender name.

My cheeks flushed again. I took the bouquet, instantly smelling the familiar, heavy scent. Who would send me these? I couldn't think of anyone, but the flowers themselves felt intimate and caused a ripple effect in my tummy.

Zoey chose that moment to reappear, clearly having waited outside. Her eyes locked onto the roses.

"Oh, Eliora! Confess! You've gotten a man and refuse to tell me!" Zoey laughed, grabbing a deep inhale of the blooms. "And he knows your favorite! Who is he, the man with the red-face-inducing dreams?"

I quickly put the flowers on the table. "It's probably a client. They're just standard roses," I lied. "No card, no sender. I need to go."

I managed to get out and into the city, desperate to get to the office. I had a lot of work to do.

The flowers were a beautiful, terrifying mystery I didn't have time to solve.

I was only a few blocks from my company building when my car suddenly sputtered. It gave a series of sharp, protesting coughs and died. I checked the dash, empty fuel tank.

Ridiculous. I was always rushing, and I just didn't think to check the fuel tank.

Great, Eliora, just great.

I searched frantically in my bag for my phone. It wasn't there. “Where on earth did I leave it?”

I suddenly remembered leaving it on Kian’s bedside table next to the empty aspirin bottle.

“Seriously, Eliora!”

I sighed deeply, leaning my head on the steering wheel, completely defeated. I was stuck on a busy, noisy street, phone-less, and late. I was about to give up and start walking when a low, powerful engine sound pulled up beside me.

A man stepped out of a black vintage muscle car, shutting the door with a confident thud. He was tall, dressed in a perfectly tailored dark suit that hinted at immense wealth. He had an athletic build and moved with a quiet, certain grace.

He walked toward my window. I looked up, instantly forgetting my troubles. He was devastatingly handsome, with high cheekbones and a strong jaw. He smiled slowly, a lazy curve that suggested he was used to charming anyone he met.

But it was his eyes that stopped my breath. They were not blue, not green, not brown. They were the color of molten caramel and gold, a shocking, magnetic amber eyes.

"Trouble?" he asked, his voice smooth and deep, like aged whiskey.

I could only stare, speechless. His beauty was a physical shock. He leaned down slightly, that amber gaze holding mine, and a question swam in his depths, a question that was both intrigued and slightly possessive.

Just how hella fine is this guy? I thought, utterly mesmerized.