Eyes Like Midnight
The storm hadn’t let up. It hammered against the glass walls of the suite like it wanted to break in and drag her back out into the night.
Indie stood in the middle of the bedroom for a long time after Kael left, his jacket pooled at her feet like a dark promise she hadn’t asked for.
Her skin still burned where his thumb had grazed her neck.
Her body felt too tight, too aware, like every nerve had been rewired the second she stepped through those glass doors.
She kicked off her wet boots and peeled the soaked jeans down her legs, then the thin shirt. Naked except for damp underwear, she walked into the bathroom and turned on the rainfall shower. Steam filled the black marble space quickly.
She stepped under the hot water and let it pound against her shoulders, trying to wash away the feeling of his eyes on her.
It didn’t work. The water only made her more conscious of her own skin, of the way her nipples had tightened when he’d stood too close, of the low throb that had started between her legs the moment he said the word mine.
Indie braced her hands on the cool tile and closed her eyes.
She could still hear his voice in the hallway after he’d left her room. Low. Controlled. Possessive in a way that should have terrified her but instead sent another rush of heat through her core.
She’s mine now.
She hadn’t meant to listen. But the walls were too thick for ordinary sound to carry unless he’d been standing closer than she realized. Or unless he wanted her to hear.
Her hand slid down her stomach before she could stop it.
Fingers brushed the edge of her underwear, then slipped beneath. She was already slick, swollen from nothing more than his voice and the memory of that jacket settling over her shoulders. One slow circle over her clit and her knees nearly buckled. She bit her lip hard to keep from making a sound.
The last thing she needed was for him to know what she was doing in here.
She came fast and sharp, forehead pressed to the tile, his name caught behind her teeth. It didn’t help. If anything, the release only made the ache worse. Because it wasn’t enough. She wanted his hands. His voice telling her what to do. His control wrapping around her the same way that jacket had.
Indie turned off the water, dried off quickly, and pulled on the first things she found in the dresser—soft black sleep shorts and an oversized gray sweater that smelled faintly of expensive detergent and something warmer.
The studio called to her. She needed to work, to ground herself in something familiar.
But when she stepped through the archway and sat at the massive desk, her tablet already powered on and waiting like it had known she was coming, she couldn’t focus.
Her fingers hovered over the stylus. The commission she’d been halfway through before her mother’s text had detonated her life sat open on the screen. A luxury perfume campaign.
Elegant. Clean. Nothing like the storm inside her chest.
She pushed the tablet away and stood.
The house was too quiet. Or maybe it was too alive.
Every shadow seemed to watch her as she slipped out of the suite and into the wide hallway.
The lights were low, motion sensors or timers she couldn’t see casting soft pools of gold along the dark wood floors.
Rain still lashed the enormous windows, turning the world outside into a blur of black and silver.
Indie walked slowly, bare feet silent. She told herself she was just stretching her legs. Getting her bearings. But the truth pressed against her ribs like a secret—she was looking for him.
For the man who had paid her debts without asking and then told her not to run.
She passed closed doors. A gym with equipment that looked military-grade. A media room with a screen that took up an entire wall. At the end of one corridor she found the library.
It smelled like old paper and leather and the faint trace of his cologne.
Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined three walls, filled with books that ranged from first editions of classics to thick volumes on architecture, security systems, and finance.
A massive fireplace sat cold and dark at the far end.
Two deep armchairs faced it, and between them a low table held a crystal decanter of something amber.
Indie stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind her with a soft finality that made her pulse jump.
She wandered along the shelves, trailing her fingers over spines.
Some of the books looked well-loved, pages marked with small slips of paper. Others were pristine. On one shelf she found a framed photograph half-hidden behind a stack of ledgers. She pulled it free.
A younger Kael stood beside a beautiful woman with long dark hair and a gentle smile. His arm was around her waist. Her hand rested on the slight swell of her stomach. They looked happy. Untouchable. The kind of couple that belonged in magazines.
Indie’s chest tightened. She set the frame back carefully.
She was still staring at it when she felt it.
Eyes on her.
Not the vague sense of being watched she’d carried since arriving. This was sharper. More deliberate. She turned slowly.
Kael stood in the doorway she hadn’t heard open.
He’d changed into black pants and a dark henley that clung to his chest and arms.
His hair was still slightly damp. He held a glass of the amber liquid in one hand, but he wasn’t drinking it.
He was watching her the way a predator watches something it has already decided belongs to it.
“Couldn’t sleep?” His voice was quiet, but it filled the room.
Indie’s fingers curled against her thigh. “I was exploring.”
“I told you the west wing was off-limits tonight.”
She lifted her chin. “This isn’t the west wing.”
A faint smile touched his mouth. He set the glass down on the table and walked toward her. Slow. Unhurried. The same way he had in the foyer. Every step made the air feel thicker.
“No,” he agreed. “It’s not.”
He stopped a few feet away. Close enough that she could see the shadow of stubble along his jaw. Close enough that she could smell rain and sandalwood again. His eyes—those midnight eyes—moved over her face, down the loose sweater that slipped off one shoulder, to the bare legs beneath the shorts.
“You’re not wearing shoes,” he said.
“I didn’t think I needed them.”
“You don’t. Not here.” He reached out and brushed the fallen shoulder of her sweater back into place. His knuckles grazed her collarbone. The touch was barely there, but it sent electricity racing across her skin. “But you do need to understand something, Indie.”
She swallowed. “What?”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead he let his hand drop, but he didn’t step back. “I’ve been watching you for a long time.”
The words landed like a spark on dry tinder. Indie’s breath caught. “Watching me?”
“Not in the way you’re thinking.” His gaze held hers, steady and unflinching. “Your mother came to me six months ago. She was scared. Said there were people asking questions about you. About your father’s old work. I started looking into it. Then I started looking into you.”
Indie’s heart slammed against her ribs. “My father died when I was ten. There’s nothing to look into.”
“There is.” Kael’s voice stayed calm, but something dangerous moved beneath it. “And there are people who want what he left behind. People who would use you to get it. That’s why you’re here. That’s why the debts are gone. That’s why I told you not to run.”
She took a half-step back. Her shoulders hit the bookshelf. “So this is what? Protection? Or ownership?”
“Both.” He closed the distance again. One hand came up to rest on the shelf beside her head.
The other stayed at his side, but she could feel the tension in him, the way he was holding himself back.
“I don’t do things halfway, Indie. When I decide something is mine, I keep it safe. I keep it close. And I make sure it knows exactly who it belongs to.”
Her mouth went dry. Heat pooled low in her belly again, hotter than before.
She should have been furious. She should have shoved past him and run for the door.
Instead she stayed exactly where she was, back against the books, heart racing, thighs pressing together because the way he was looking at her made her feel stripped bare.
“You don’t even know me,” she whispered.
“I know enough.” His eyes dropped to her mouth, then lower, to the way her nipples had tightened against the soft sweater.
“I know you came in here because you couldn’t stop thinking about what happened downstairs. I know you touched yourself in the shower thinking about my hands on you. I know you’re wet right now just from standing this close to me.”
Indie’s cheeks burned. Shame and arousal tangled so tightly she couldn’t tell them apart. “You don’t know that.”
“I do.” Kael leaned in until his mouth was inches from her ear.
His breath was warm. “Because I’ve been watching, little artist. And because I recognize the look in your eyes. The same one I’ve had every time I’ve looked at your photos or read your messages or listened to the way your voice shakes when you’re trying to sound brave.”
He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze again. His eyes were darker now, midnight and hunger and something that looked almost like pain.
“I lost someone once,” he said quietly. “I won’t lose again. Not you.”
The confession hung between them, raw and unexpected.
Indie’s throat tightened. She wanted to ask about the woman in the photograph. About the child that never got to be born.
About what had really happened to his wife. But the words wouldn’t come.
Instead she whispered, “What happens if I say no to your rules?”
Kael’s hand came up. This time he didn’t stop at her shoulder.
His fingers slid into her damp hair, gripping gently but firmly at the nape of her neck. He tilted her head back until she had no choice but to look at him.
“Then I spend every day convincing you to say yes.” His thumb stroked the side of her throat, right over her pulse. “Starting now.”
He didn’t kiss her. He didn’t need to. The promise in his voice and the heat in his eyes was enough to make her knees weak.
His grip tightened just enough to make her breath catch, then he released her and stepped back.
“Go back to your room, Indie. Lock the door if it makes you feel safer. But know this.” He picked up his glass again, eyes never leaving hers. “Tomorrow we discuss the terms. And once you agree—and you will agree—there will be no more running. No more pretending you don’t feel this.”
He turned toward the door, then paused.
“And Indie?”
She couldn’t speak. She could only stare at him, body humming, mind spinning.
“Next time you explore at night,” he said softly, “wear something you don’t mind me taking off you.”
Then he was gone, leaving her alone in the library with the storm still raging outside and her own ragged breathing filling the silence.
Indie slid down the bookshelf until she was sitting on the floor, knees pulled to her chest. Her phone buzzed in the pocket of her shorts.
She didn’t want to look. But she did.
Another unknown number. Another message.
He’s lying to you. Ask him about the west wing. Ask him what really happened to his wife.
Indie’s hands shook as she stared at the glowing screen.
From somewhere deeper in the house, she heard the low sound of Kael’s voice again. Not on the phone this time. Speaking to someone in person. The words were too muffled to catch, but the tone was unmistakable.
Commanding. Dangerous.
Protective.
She pressed the phone to her chest and closed her eyes.
The rain kept falling.
And somewhere in the dark, Kael Thorne was watching.
Waiting.
Already planning exactly how he was going to make her his.