Chapter 7 #2
“You?” I looked at her skeptically. “You panic when the espresso machine makes a noise.”
“I do not! And I love speed. I love the feeling of going so fast that everything blurs. It’s the only time my brain goes quiet.”
She sighed, looking down at her glass.
“But Mom said helmets ruin your hair, and Dad said Vane women don’t sweat. So… fashion. It was the next best thing. Fast trends, fast runways.”
We looked at each other. Two people forced into molds we hadn't chosen, trying to find a way to breathe within the constraints.
“We’re a pair, aren't we?” I murmured. “The failed architect and the frustrated racer.”
“We’re a disaster,” she agreed cheerfully. “But at least we look good doing it.”
The waiter arrived with our appetizers—oysters and steak tartare.
We ate. We talked.
And somewhere between the appetizers and the main course, the performance stopped.
We weren't pretending anymore.
I found myself watching her mouth as she ate, mesmerized. I found myself telling her about the rookie on the team who was struggling, asking for her advice on how to handle him. She listened. She gave actual, insightful advice ("He needs a buddy system, Ezra, he’s lonely, not incompetent").
We developed a rhythm. A secret language of glances. When the woman at the next table laughed too loudly, Amara caught my eye and wrinkled her nose. I smirked. When the waiter offered dessert, I looked at her, knew she wanted the chocolate soufflé but wouldn't ask, and ordered it for her.
She beamed at me.
“How did you know?”
“I pay attention,” I said. “You always crave chocolate after wine.”
“Stalker,” she teased.
“Observer,” I corrected.
Toward the end of the meal, an older couple stopped by our table. It was Professor Hammond, the Dean of the Business School, and his wife.
“Ezra,” Hammond said, beaming. “It’s good to see you out. And with such charming company.”
He looked at Amara.
“Miss Vane. I’ve heard… colorful things. But seeing you two together tonight…” He shook his head, smiling. “It makes sense. You balance him out. I haven’t seen this young man look this relaxed since freshman year.”
Mrs. Hammond nodded. “You two look like you’re in your own little world. It’s lovely to see young love. It’s rare to see it so… genuine.”
Genuine.
Amara froze. I felt her leg tense against mine.
I reached for her hand on the table, interlacing our fingers. I looked at Hammond.
“She keeps me on my toes, sir,” I said.
“I’m sure she does. Give my regards to your father tomorrow, Ezra. Tell him he’s lucky to have a son with such good taste.”
They walked away.
Amara and I sat in silence. The words hung over us. Young love. Genuine.
Amara looked down at our joined hands.
“They bought it,” she whispered. “Hook, line, and sinker.”
“Yeah,” I said. My throat felt tight. “They bought it.”
But as I looked at her—flushed from the wine, her lips slightly swollen, her eyes soft—I realized the terrifying truth.
I wasn't acting.
I hadn’t been acting all night. I wasn't holding her hand because of the Hammonds. I was holding it because I didn't want to let go.
“Ready to go?” I asked abruptly. I needed to get out of there. I needed air. The realization was suffocating me.
“Yeah,” she said breathless. “Let’s go.”
The drive home was silent.
Not the comfortable silence of the restaurant. This was a heavy, charged silence. The air in the Aston Martin was thick with unsaid words and pheromones.
Amara stared out the window, watching the city blur by. I drove fast, my hands gripping the leather steering wheel until my knuckles turned white.
Genuine.
The word echoed in my head.
We pulled into the underground garage of The Sterling Heights. I cut the engine. The silence was deafening.
I unbuckled my seatbelt. I turned to look at her.
She was already looking at me.
In the dim light of the garage, she looked ethereal. Her eyes were dark pools. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly.
“Ezra,” she whispered.
That was all it took.
I reached across the console. My hand cupped the back of her neck, tangling in the sleek bun, pulling it loose. Pins scattered. Platinum hair cascaded down her shoulders.
I pulled her toward me. She scrambled over the center console, not caring about the gear stick digging into her hip, not caring about the awkward angle.
Our mouths collided.
It wasn't a kiss. It was a collision. It was hunger and fear and three days of repressed longing exploding all at once.
She tasted like chocolate and wine. She made a desperate, keening sound in her throat that vibrated against my lips. Her hands were in my hair, gripping tight, pulling me closer.
I groaned, sliding my hands down the silk of her dress. I found the bare skin of her back. It was electric.
“Amara,” I growled against her mouth. “You have no idea… you have no idea how much I want you.”
“Show me,” she begged. She bit my lower lip, hard. “Show me, Ezra. I don’t want to pretend anymore. Not tonight.”
I pushed her back against the passenger seat. I climbed over, my body covering hers. The car was too small. The world was too small.
My hand found the slit in her dress. I pushed the fabric aside. Her thigh was warm, soft. I slid my hand higher, seeking the heat I knew was waiting for me.
She arched into my touch, her head falling back against the leather headrest.
“Please,” she whimpered. “Ezra, please.”
I wanted to. God, I wanted to. I wanted to rip the dress. I wanted to bury myself inside her right here in the parking garage and claim her in the most primal way possible.
But then my phone buzzed.
It was in my pocket, vibrating against her hip.
Buzz. Buzz.
It broke the trance. Just for a second.
I pulled back, panting, my forehead resting against hers.
“Ezra?” she asked, her voice wrecked.
“The phone,” I gasped. “It’s… it’s the special ringtone.”
Father.
The ice water hit me.
I froze. My hand was still on her thigh. My body was still screaming for her. But the reality of tomorrow came crashing down.
If I took her now… like this… chaotic, messy, in a car…
I wasn't proving I could handle her. I was proving I had lost control.
And tomorrow, I needed to be in total control.
I pulled my hand away. It took every ounce of willpower I possessed.
“We can’t,” I said. My voice sounded broken.
“Why?” Amara whispered. Tears welled in her eyes. “Because of him?”
“Because of us,” I lied. Or maybe it was the truth. “Because if we do this… I need it to be right. I need it to be on my terms. Not… not a reaction.”
I climbed back into the driver’s seat. I ran a hand through my messy hair. I felt like I had just run a marathon.
Amara sat up. She fixed her dress. She smoothed her hair. She looked devastated.
“You’re right,” she said softly. The mask was back, but it was thin. fragile. “We have a big day tomorrow. Gotta stay in the black.”
She opened the door and got out of the car.
I watched her walk toward the elevator. She walked with her head high, but I saw her shoulders shaking.
I slammed my fist against the steering wheel.
Damn the ledger.
I stayed in the car for ten minutes, waiting for my heart rate to slow, waiting for the ache in my chest to subside.
It didn't.
I was in trouble. I was in deep, catastrophic trouble.
I wasn't just faking it for the Hammonds. I wasn't just faking it for my father.
I was falling in love with Amara Vane.
And tomorrow, I had to serve her up to the man who destroyed everything I loved on a silver platter.