Two

Tiana's Pov

His gaze. It wasn't just friendly. It was... hungry. Intense. It sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with cold and everything to do with a dangerous, thrilling heat. My heart was still doing a marathon in my chest, even after he'd disappeared from the study window.

Did I imagine it? Was it just the light? Or was it... was it real? The Gabriel from my dreams, the one who looked at me like that, was he actually there, in his eyes, just now?

I shook my head, trying to clear it. No. Get a grip, Tiana. He's your dad's best friend. He's probably just surprised to see you all grown up. He probably thinks you're, like, a niece. A very tall, slightly awkward niece.

I took a deep breath and looked around my new room. It was nice. Too nice, maybe. Big bed, soft carpet, a huge window looking out onto the garden. But it still felt like a guest room. Not my room. Not home. Not yet.

Unpacking was a blur. I tried to focus, to put my clothes away, but my mind kept drifting. Every creak of the floorboards, every distant sound, made me wonder if it was him. If he was coming. If he was still thinking about that moment at the window.

Later, I heard him moving around in the kitchen. The smell of something delicious started to waft through the house. Gabriel could cook? Of course he could. He was perfect.

I walked out, trying to look casual. He was at the stove, stirring something in a pan, his back to me. The way his t-shirt stretched across his shoulders... Tiana, stop it!

"Smells good," I said, trying to sound normal.

He turned, a warm smile instantly on his face. "Tiana! Perfect timing. Dinner's almost ready. Hope you like pasta."

"Love pasta," I mumbled, trying not to stare. He looked so relaxed, so... domestic. And it was doing things to my insides.

We sat at his huge dining table. It felt a bit formal, just the two of us. He talked about my parents, about their new life in London, asking if I was settling in okay. He was all polite, friendly, and the perfect guardian. The perfect uncle.

"So, how's school going to be?" he asked, taking a sip of his wine. "Northwood High, right? It's a good school."

"Yeah, I guess," I said, picking at my food. "Just... new. You know."

He nodded. "It's a big change. But you'll adjust. You're a smart girl, Tiana."

Smart girl. See? Uncle vibes. No hungry gazes now. Just... nice. Too nice. It made me wonder if I'd completely imagined that moment at the window. Maybe I was just projecting my crazy dreams onto him.

After dinner, he insisted on doing the dishes. "You're the guest, Tiana. Go relax."

I went back to my room, feeling a mix of frustration and disappointment. He was being so... proper. So distant. It was like he'd put up a wall, or maybe I had.

But even with the distance, I was constantly aware of him. I could hear him in his study, the low murmur of his voice on a phone call, the soft click of his keyboard. His scent, that unique Gabriel scent, seemed to linger in the air, even in my room. It was intoxicating.

I started observing him. Little things. The way he ran his hand through his hair when he was thinking. The way he always had a book open on his coffee table. The way he'd hum a little tune when he was making coffee in the morning. He was so effortlessly elegant, even when he was just doing mundane things.

One evening, I was getting a glass of water in the kitchen, and he walked in, just in a pair of sweatpants, his chest bare. My breath hitched. He had a lean, muscular build, not overly bulky, but strong. My eyes lingered on the faint scar just above his hip, a small, intriguing imperfection.

He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, completely oblivious to my intentions.

I closed my eyes, picturing his face, his smile, that fleeting hungry gaze. This wasn't just about my dreams anymore. This was about making them real. And I knew, with a certainty that both thrilled and terrified me, that I was willing to do anything to make him mine.

The days turned into a strange routine. Mornings were a blur of getting ready for school, trying to catch a glimpse of him before he left for work. Evenings were spent in the living room, pretending to study while secretly watching him read, or work on his laptop. He was always so focused, so composed. It was infuriating.

I started dressing differently. Not overtly, but subtly. Skirts that were a little shorter, tops that hugged my figure a bit more. I'd catch him sometimes, his eyes flicking over me, a quick, almost imperceptible pause, before he'd clear his throat and go back to his book. It was a tiny victory, but it fueled me.

One evening, I decided to be bolder. He was in the kitchen, making tea. I walked in, wearing a pair of my shortest shorts and a tank top, pretending to look for a snack.

"Hey, Gabriel," I said, leaning against the counter, trying to make my voice sound casual.

He turned, his eyes doing that quick sweep again. "Tiana. Is everything alright?" His voice was still calm, but I thought I saw a muscle twitch in his jaw.

"Yeah, just hungry," I replied, reaching for a fruit bowl, making sure to stretch a little, letting my tank top ride up just a fraction. I glanced at him from under my lashes. His gaze was fixed on my midriff for a split second, then snapped back to my face.

"There's some leftover pasta in the fridge if you want," he said, his voice a little rougher than usual. He turned back to the kettle, his back to me.

I felt a surge of triumph. He noticed. He definitely noticed.

I decided to push it further. "You know," I said, my voice a little softer, "it's weird, living here. It's so... quiet without Mom and Dad."

He turned again, leaning against the counter, facing me. "It's a big adjustment. I understand." His eyes were warm, but there was a new intensity there, a guardedness I hadn't seen before.

"Yeah," I continued, taking a step closer. "Sometimes I just... miss having someone around. Someone to talk to, you know?" I looked up at him, letting my eyes linger on his lips for a moment, then meeting his gaze.

He swallowed his Adam's apple bobbing. "You can always talk to me, Tiana. I'm here for you." His voice was low, almost a murmur.

I took another step, closing the small distance between us. I could smell his cologne, feel the heat radiating off him. My heart was pounding so hard I thought he must hear it.

"I know," I whispered, my voice barely audible. I reached out, my fingers brushing lightly against his arm, just above his elbow. His skin was warm, firm. A jolt, like static electricity, shot through me.

His eyes widened, a flash of something raw and untamed igniting in their depths. His breath hitched. He didn't pull away. He just stood there, frozen, his gaze locked on mine, a silent battle raging in his eyes.

My fingers lingered, tracing the line of his arm, feeling the subtle flex of his muscle. This was it. This was the moment. I leaned in, just a fraction, my eyes dropping to his mouth.

"Gabriel," I breathed, my voice a soft plea, my heart hammering a desperate rhythm.

His eyes, now dark and stormy, flickered from my lips to my eyes. He let out a low, guttural sound, a sound I'd never heard from him before. It was primal. Dangerous.

And then, with a sudden, unexpected move, he reached out, his hand closing around my wrist, his grip firm, almost bruising. He pulled my hand away from his arm, his eyes blazing with an intensity that both thrilled and terrified me.

"Tiana," he growled, his voice rough, strained, and utterly unlike the polite, noble Gabriel I knew. "You have no idea what you're doing."

His grip on my wrist was firm, not painful, but it was a clear message: Stop. But the fire in his eyes, that raw, untamed flash, contradicted his words. It was a battle, raging right there in front of me, in his gaze, in the tension of his body. And that just made me want to push harder.

"Oh, I think I do, Gabriel," I whispered, my voice surprisingly steady despite my hammering heart. I pulled my wrist gently, testing his hold. He didn't release me. His thumb, almost unconsciously, brushed against my pulse point, and a fresh jolt shot through me.

His eyes narrowed, still blazing. "This isn't a game, Tiana. You're a child. My best friend's daughter. You're living under my roof." Each word was clipped, laced with a desperate control.

"I'm not a child," I countered, my chin lifting. "I'm eighteen. And I'm not just your best friend's daughter anymore, am I? I'm living here. With you." I let my gaze drop to his lips again, then back to his eyes, trying to convey every forbidden thought that had ever crossed my mind.

He let out a low, frustrated sound, a mix between a growl and a sigh. His grip on my wrist tightened for a second, then loosened, but he still didn't let go. He was fighting himself, and the sight of it was intoxicating.

"You need to stop," he said, his voice barely above a whisper now, his eyes searching mine, almost pleading. "Before you regret it. Before we regret it."

"Regret what?" I challenged, taking another tiny step closer, forcing him to either pull away or stand his ground. He stood his ground.

"Feeling something? Is that what you're so afraid of, Gabriel?"

His jaw clenched, a muscle working furiously. He looked away for a split second, his gaze sweeping over my body, lingering on my shorts, my tank top, before snapping back to my face. The hunger was back, stronger this time, warring with something that looked like pure agony.

"You don't understand the implications," he muttered, his voice hoarse. "The lines we can't cross."

"Maybe I don't care about lines," I whispered, my voice laced with a dangerous sweetness. I reached my free hand up, slowly, deliberately, and placed it on his chest, right over his heart. I could feel the frantic beat beneath my palm, mirroring my own.

His eyes flew to my hand, then back to my face, wide with shock, with something akin to terror. He sucked in a sharp breath. He was trembling, just slightly, but I felt it.

"Tiana..." he breathed, his voice a ragged plea, his gaze locked on mine, a desperate, silent battle raging in his eyes. His hand, still holding my wrist, tightened, but he didn't push me away. He couldn't.

I leaned in, my face just inches from his, my breath mingling with his. "Tell me you don't feel it, Gabriel," I challenged, my voice a soft, dangerous murmur. "Tell me you don't feel this."

His eyes, dark and stormy, flickered from my lips to my eyes, then back again. His chest rose and fell rapidly beneath my hand. The air between us was thick, charged, humming with an unspoken tension that was almost unbearable.

He let out another low, guttural sound, a desperate, broken noise. His gaze dropped to my mouth, lingering there, hot and heavy. I could see the war in his eyes, the fight between duty and desire, between what was right and what he clearly, undeniably, wanted.

And then, with a sudden, raw intensity that stole my breath, his eyes snapped back to mine, and he pulled my wrist, hard, not to push me away, but to drag me even closer, his other hand flying up to cup the back of my head.