Chapter 1 The Coffee #2
Just staring with the kind of expression usually reserved for scientific anomalies or particularly baffling street performers.
I gave him a bright, slightly desperate smile, hoping it looked charming and quirky rather than clinically unstable.
For a second, nothing happened.
Then something flickered in those gray eyes.
A hint of amusement.
Dark.
Dangerous.
Far more unsettling than if he’d been angry.
And before I could say another word, his hand moved.
Fast.
His fingers closed around my wrist.
Not tight.
Just enough to remind me he could.
The contact sent a jolt straight through my system. His skin was cool, his grip solid—effortless strength wrapped in calm control. He wasn’t hurting me, but the casual display of power knocked the air from my lungs anyway.
His thumb pressed lightly against the inside of my wrist.
Right over my pulse.
Which, judging by the frantic rhythm pounding beneath his touch, he could definitely feel.
“Isabella.”
The way he said my name wasn’t a greeting.
It was a claim.
Low. Deliberate. The sound slid down my spine like silk pulled slowly over bare skin.
A traitorous shiver followed.
Great.
“Your… chatter is unnecessary.”
His voice was smooth, almost polite, but there was steel buried underneath it.
“Take the order. No greetings. No tangents. No commentary.”
He leaned closer.
Close enough that his breath brushed the shell of my ear.
“Silence suits you better,” he murmured. “Unless you’d like to find out what happens when you keep poking the beast.”
It was a warning.
A taunt.
And probably something I should have taken seriously.
I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. My heart pounded like it was trying to break out of my ribs. Every sensible instinct I possessed screamed at me to nod quietly and behave like a normal, functional human being.
Unfortunately, self-preservation has never been my strongest skill.
So instead, I leaned in just a fraction.
My voice dropped to a whisper.
“Or what?”
I held his gaze.
“You’ll muzzle me?”
The air between us seemed to spark.
His thumb dragged slowly across my pulse—deliberate, unhurried—sending a cold, electric shiver up my arm. A smirk touched the corner of his mouth, but it wasn’t warm.
It was predatory.
“Oh, Isabella,” he murmured.
The way he said my name slid over my skin like a brand.
“I’ll make you beg for the quiet.”
And then, just like that, he let go.
The sudden absence of his hand felt almost like a shove. My arm dropped back to my side, the place where he’d touched me still burning as if the imprint of his fingers had stayed behind.
My pulse continued racing, pounding in my ears like it had something to prove.
I hated it.
I hated how my body reacted to him—how it leaned toward the danger even while my brain screamed for distance.
Forcing my hands to cooperate, I turned toward the espresso machine.
I could still feel his eyes on me.
The sensation crawled across my shoulders like heat, making every movement feel clumsy and exposed.
I fumbled with the portafilter, the metal clinking loudly as I locked it into place. My hands shook more than I wanted to admit.
By the time the coffee was ready, I had managed to pull myself together.
Mostly.
I slid the cup across the marble counter without looking at him.
But I couldn’t resist one small act of rebellion.
His name—Alexander—was written across the cup in bold letters.
And beneath it, I’d drawn a tiny devil face with crooked horns and a wicked little grin.
His gaze dropped to the cup.
For a split second, the muscle in his jaw tightened—a hairline crack in that perfectly controlled mask.
I waited.
Braced.
Half convinced he was about to reach across the counter and finish what he started.
Instead, he simply picked up the coffee.
No reprimand.
No glare.
He didn’t even look at me again.
He turned and walked toward the door, long strides carrying him through the café like he owned the place.
The bell chimed as he stepped outside, disappearing into the morning light.
But the tension he left behind didn’t go with him.
It lingered.
Heavy.
Electric.
I stood there for a moment, completely frozen, until the bell chimed again and the normal sounds of the café rushed back in.
Sarah appeared beside me so suddenly I jumped.
Her eyes were wide with a mixture of shock and barely contained delight.
“Did he just… grab your wrist?”
“Yeah,” I muttered, slumping against the counter.
My wrist still tingled.
“He’s basically a walking algorithm, Sarah. All code, no soul. I’m pretty sure he has a factory reset button where his heart should be.”
I glared toward the door, which was still gently swinging from his exit.
“Five weeks,” I groaned, slamming the portafilter into the machine. “Five weeks of me trying to act like a normal human being—good mornings, polite conversation, small talk about the weather—and all I get in return is a verbal dagger and a threat to my vocal cords.”
I crossed my arms, trying to look determined.
“Black coffee. Radio silence. That’s the new Isabella policy.”
Sarah lifted a brow, her grin turning far too knowing.
“You say that,” she said slowly, “but your pulse is practically doing the tango in your neck.”
I shot her a murderous look.
“That’s adrenaline. A perfectly normal biological response to a perceived predator.”
“Mm-hmm.”
She leaned closer, clearly enjoying this far too much.
“You’re hooked on him like high-grade caffeine, Bella. I can see the jitters from here.”
“I am not hooked,” I snapped, my face heating again. “The man is basically a human black hole. He walks into a room and sucks all the oxygen out of it with that… that smirk.”
I waved my hand vaguely.
“What even is that expression? Pure arrogance? Chronic heartburn?”
Sarah’s voice dropped, smooth and dangerously amused.
“He’s not a black hole, Isabella.”
She lightly traced a finger through the air just above my wrist, where the ghost of his grip still lingered.
“He’s the event horizon.”
My stomach flipped.
“And you?” she continued, smiling like she’d already solved the puzzle.
“You’re not fighting the pull.”
I yanked my arm back.
My cheeks were on fire.
“He’s a narcissist. Possibly a sociopath. The man literally threatened to muzzle me.”
“And yet,” Sarah sang, tossing a sugar packet onto the counter, “here you are vibrating on the exact same frequency.”
She leaned closer, lowering her voice.
“You’re not scared of what he’ll do next.”
Her smile widened.
“You’re scared of how much you want to find out.”