CHAPTER TWO

GWEN POV

Once we were out on the sidewalk, Nolan took his arm away. His small burst of anger I noticed from before was completely gone. Now, he just looked calm and focused.

“Would you like something hot or cold?” he asked, his deep voice smooth.

I stared up at him, confused by the sudden normal question.

“The drink?” He lifted one dark eyebrow. It was a small movement, but it somehow made him seem a little dangerous. “Are you sure you’re alright? You didn’t hit your head when you fell, did you?”

“I’m fine,” I said quickly. I needed to know why he’d hurried us away. “But why didn’t you want to go eat with Ms. Shapy?”

The words fumbled out of my lips before I could stop them.

His lips curved up again. This time, the smile was bigger, like a flash of moonlight. It made the green in his eyes seem to glow. “Because she’s Ms. Not My Type,” he said, his voice dropping slightly.

“You don’t like her?” I asked, feeling a type of bravery and fear. He honestly seemed like the kind of man who would like that kind of polished, perfect woman.

“Women like her can be okay sometimes,” he said, but he looked at me, not her, and his strange look made my skin tingle. He nodded across the street. “How about that place? They have excellent hot chocolate, if you want something hot.”

I looked across the street at a bar. It was one of those expensive, fancy places I’d only ever seen from the outside—a world away from my life.

He sighed, a low sound. “Come on. Don’t make me a liar to Sandra. She'll be looking at us right now."

I laughed a little, imagining him making excuses to that woman we had just seen inside.

 “Really? That’s her name?” I muttered to myself.

“Really.” He held out his arm in a polite, old-fashioned way. “Gwen, it’s freezing. Let’s get you inside before you turn into an icicle.”

I looked at the bar again. Going in there felt like stepping into his world—a world of old money, dark secrets, and perfect tailoring. But going home to my empty, cold apartment felt worse.

“Fine,” I said, trying to sound a little annoyed, but I couldn't hide the small smile that gave me away.

Ten minutes later, I was still trying to believe it. Instead of microwaving a cheap dinner alone, I was sitting across from the man who'd knocked me on my butt. I was sipping a glass of warm, rich red wine. It tasted like velvet. Nolan had a glass of dark scotch and soda.

“Tell me something, Gwen,” Nolan said, leaning forward. His eyes had a serious, intense look, like a hungry beast watching his prey. His voice dropped to a low, smooth tone that felt private, just for us. “Do you believe in fate?”

I almost choked on my wine. “Fate? Like destiny? What does that have to do with you knocking me over?”

He chuckled, a deep sound in his chest. “Everything. It puts you right in my path. Now, tell me about yourself. What do you do when you’re not falling in front of  strangers?”

“I don’t think so, Nolan.” I remembered the woman at the shop calling him that name. He didn’t seem like Nolan. He seemed more like a Mark or a Tyler—names of people who stepped on money and power.

“Okay. No sharing of personal information. I like that, too. Strangers in the night sort of thing.” He watched me, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips.

I shrugged and sipped the most excellent glass of wine I had ever tasted. Nolan had insisted on ordering it for me. It had cost more than a full bottle of my usual brand. “Are you regretting not going with Ms. Shapy yet?”

“Not at all. Believe it or not, I’m enjoying your company. More than I thought I would.” He picked up his drink and stared into the dark liquid, but his focus was still on me.

I shook my head, feeling brave again. “You’re right, I don’t believe it.”

“The fact that you’re still here,” he pointed out softly, “suggests that maybe you don’t mind me as much as you’re pretending.”

I shrugged again. “The wine is fabulous.”

He smiled then, a full one, and it was breathtaking. This man could have any woman he wanted, perfect or not, so why was he here with me? Pity, I supposed.

“I thought you’d like that,” he said, his smile never fading.

I had to admit he was right. Not just about liking the wine, but also about not hating his company. We didn't talk about our personal lives—no jobs, no family, no real history—but we still found topics to chat about that kept the conversation lively and interesting. He talked about cities with impossible names and places I’d only read about. It felt like talking to someone much much older, someone with secrets that stretched back decades.

“You’ve seen a lot of the world,” I observed.

“Some of it,” he agreed, his eyes distant for a moment. “I like places that still have wildness in them. Mountains, deep forests. Where things are still rough and untamed.”

“I’ve never really traveled,” I confessed. “Just small trips. My grandmother always told me the world was too dangerous for a girl like me.”

Nolan’s face darkened, and for a second, I saw something fierce… like a red flash in his eyes. It was a sudden, intense heat, like looking into a fire. “Your grandmother was right that the world is dangerous,” he said, his voice low and serious. “But the danger often comes from what you can't see. And for a woman like you, you need someone strong to stand beside you.”

“And you think you’re that person?” I asked, challenging him, but my voice was shaky.

He leaned across the table, his scent—a blend of expensive cologne, old leather, and something earthy, like pine and wet sand—filling my senses. “I know I am. If I chose to keep you safe, nothing would ever touch you, Gwen. Nothing.”

The intense energy between us tightened, making it hard to breathe. The air felt charged and completely heavy at that moment.

“That’s a big promise,” I whispered.

He just gave a slow, confident nod. “I keep my promises.”