10. Stefan #2
“Probably.” I shrugged without breaking eye contact. “Do you actually want me to stop, or are you just saying that because you think you should?”
She hesitated before answering. Just for a second. Just long enough for me to notice.
“Yes, I want you to stop.” The word came out breathy and uncertain, completely unconvincing.
“Liar.” I smiled again, letting warmth creep into my expression. “Your pulse is racing so fast I can see it from here, right in the hollow of your throat.”
I reached out and let my fingers hover over the delicate skin at the base of her neck, stopping just before making contact. Close enough for her to feel the heat of my hand.
She swallowed hard, and I watched the movement travel down her throat. Her eyes were locked on mine, wide and dark.
“Stefan.” My name came out as barely a whisper.
“I missed hearing you say my name.” I let my hand drop back to my side. “I used to dream about it in the years after you left. The way it sounds in your voice.”
“Don’t do this.” But she didn’t move away.
“Don’t tell you the truth about how I feel?” I stepped closer until I could smell her perfume. “Don’t admit that seeing you again after all this time is driving me crazy? Don’t say that I’ve thought about you constantly for four years?”
Her breath hitched audibly. Her hands unclenched from her elbows and fell to her sides, her defensive posture crumbling.
“I’ve thought about you too.” The words seemed to slip out before she could stop them, surprising us both.
My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I was sure she could hear it. “You have?”
“I...” She blinked rapidly, and confusion washed over her features. Then horror. Then a wall slamming down.
“What am I doing right now?” She stepped back abruptly, putting distance between us. “What the hell am I doing, standing here flirting with you?”
“Layla, wait-”
“No.” She held up her hand, her whole body going rigid with tension. “This isn’t happening. Whatever this is, it’s not happening.”
“Everything I said was the truth.” I spread my hands, showing her I wasn’t a threat. “Every single word of it.”
“I don’t care if it’s the truth or not.” Her voice was shaking now, unsteady. “You don’t get to say those things to me anymore. You lost that right when you showed me who you really are.”
The shift from warmth to ice was so sudden it gave me whiplash. One second she was softening toward me, leaning in, admitting she’d thought about me. The next she was looking at me with pure hatred.
“Why do you keep saying that?” I ran my hand through my hair in frustration. “What right did I lose? What do you think I did?”
“You know exactly what you did.”
“I don’t.” I stepped toward her and she stepped back, maintaining the distance. “That’s the problem here, Layla. I have no idea what happened between us. Help me understand what went wrong.”
“I can’t have this conversation with you.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Does the distinction even matter at this point?”
“It matters to me.” I stopped advancing, giving her the space she clearly needed. “Everything about you matters to me. It always has.”
Pain flickered across her face. Or maybe doubt creeping in around the edges of her certainty.
“So can I see her?” I changed tactics, lowering my voice. “Please, Layla. Whatever happened between us in the past, Cece is innocent in all of this. She deserves to know her father exists.”
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
I watched her war with herself, the internal battle playing out across her features. Fear flickered through her expression, then anger, then exhaustion from carrying this burden alone for so long.
“Let me think about it.” She opened her eyes and met my gaze with obvious reluctance. “Fine. But give me some time first. Let me talk to her and figure out how to explain this situation to a three-year-old.”
The relief that flooded through me was so overwhelming I nearly staggered backward.
“Thank you.” My voice cracked on the words, raw with emotion I couldn’t hide. “Layla, thank you so much. I’ll do whatever you need me to do. I’ll follow whatever rules you set. I just want to know her.”
She didn’t respond to my gratitude. She just gathered her laptop and her notes from the table, shoving them into her bag with hands that were visibly trembling.
I followed her toward the door, my heart pounding against my ribs. She was going to let me see Cece. After everything that had happened between us, she was finally giving me a chance to meet my daughter.
We reached the doorway at the same moment, both of us moving to exit the conference room at once.
She stepped to the left to go around me. I stepped to the left at the same instant to let her pass. She corrected to the right. I mirrored her movement without thinking.
Our bodies collided in the narrow doorframe, her shoulder hitting my chest, and she stumbled backward off balance.
I reached out on instinct, my hands catching her waist before she could fall.
The moment my fingers touched her, everything stopped.
Her hands landed flat against my chest to steady herself, her palms pressing through the fabric of my shirt, warmth radiating from the contact.
My hands gripped her hips and pulled her close without any conscious decision on my part, my body acting on muscle memory from years of holding her exactly this way.
Our faces ended up inches apart. I could see the gold flecks scattered through her brown eyes. I could count each individual eyelash framing them.
Her perfume surrounded me. Vanilla, the same scent she’d worn throughout our entire marriage.
The smell of it made my head spin with memories I’d spent four years trying to bury.
Lazy Sunday mornings tangled in our sheets.
Getting ready for dinner parties, her laughing as I zipped up her dress.
Burying my face in her hair while I moved inside her, breathing her in.
Her breath came in quick, shallow bursts against my lips. Warm puffs that I could almost taste. So close. She was so impossibly close.
Tremors ran through her body beneath my hands, tiny shivers she couldn’t seem to control no matter how hard she tried. I could feel her heartbeat racing where her chest pressed against mine, matching the frantic rhythm of my own.
We stood frozen together. Neither of us moved. Neither of us spoke.
Her fingers curled into the fabric of my shirt, gripping tight, and I couldn’t tell if she was trying to push me away or pull me closer. Her eyes dropped to my mouth and stayed there, her lips parting slightly.
I leaned in, closing the fraction of distance between us. My lips were a breath away from hers. I could feel the heat radiating off her skin. I could feel her swaying toward me, drawn in despite herself.
“Stefan.” My name came out as a whisper, half protest, half invitation.
“Layla.” I breathed her name back, my hands tightening on her hips.
The conference room door at the end of the hallway banged open.
“Layla, I forgot my-”
Nessa’s voice cut through the charged silence.
Layla’s eyes went wide with panic. She shoved both hands against my chest hard, pushing me backward, and stumbled out of my grasp.
By the time Nessa rounded the corner, we were standing three feet apart, both of us breathing hard, neither of us looking at the other.
“My notebook.” Nessa held up the leather-bound pad she’d left on the conference table. “I forgot my notebook.” Her eyes darted between us, taking in Layla’s flushed cheeks and my rumpled shirt. “Everything okay in here?”
“Fine.” Layla’s voice came out too high. “We’re fine. We were just finishing up.”
“Right.” Nessa’s tone made it clear she didn’t believe a word of it. “Well, I got what I needed. Layla, you coming?”
“Yes.” Layla grabbed her bag from where she’d dropped it and practically ran toward Nessa. “Let’s go.”
She didn’t look back at me. Not once.
I stood in the empty doorway, my hands still tingling from the feel of her body against mine, watching her disappear down the hallway.
Whatever she believed I’d done, whatever lies had driven us apart, there was still a pull between us. Four years of silence hadn’t been able to destroy it.
And I was going to find out what had broken us.