6. Nathan - Dangerously Close
Chapter Six
NATHAN - DANGEROUSLY CLOSE
W hen we return to our suite after dinner, the buzz of the evening still lingers in the air. Dana kicks off her strappy heels with a sigh and sinks onto the couch, the tips of her fingers massaging her temple as though trying to ease the tension.
“You’re quiet again,” I state, watching her from the other side of the room.
“Long day,” she replies without looking at me.
I hesitate for a moment before grabbing the small bag I had delivered earlier. “I know.” I carry it over and place it on the coffee table in front of her. “I was there for most of it.”
She glances up, her brow furrowing. “What’s that?”
“Something to help,” I answer casually, taking a seat across from her on the bed.
She straightens, reaching for the bag. When she pulls out the first item her expression shifts, surprise flickering across her face.
“You bought me books?” she asks, her voice soft, tinged with disbelief.
“You mentioned this author at dinner a few weeks ago,” I explain, leaning back. “Figured you could use something to take your mind off things.”
She pulls out another book, then another, her fingers gently brushing over the covers like they might disappear if she looks away. The tension in her shoulders eases, replaced by something almost hesitant.
Her thumb traces the embossed lettering on the spine, pausing as if committing the weight of it to memory.
“These are…” She trails off, blinking down at them. Like she’s waiting for the catch. Like she doesn’t quite know how to accept something so simple.
Her voice is quieter when she speaks again. “You had these overnighted?”
Disbelief coats her voice as she glances up at me.
“Seemed important,” I counter, shrugging gently.
For a moment, she doesn’t say anything. Then, setting the books carefully on the table, she looks at me with an expression I can’t quite read. Or maybe I can read it, but I don’t want to overthink things right now, so I’m choosing not to.
The deep brown of her eyes reflects the warm light of the room, making it look like they’re glowing. “You’re impossible,” she murmurs, but there’s no sharpness to her tone.
“Is that how you thank your boyfriend?” I tease, my lips tugging their corners into a grin.
“Maybe,” she replies, her reluctant smile tilting toward amusement.
The tension in the room shifts, lightening enough to make me lean forward, bracing my elbows on my knees. “I can live with that.”
Dana picks up one of the books again, flipping through its pages absently. As she does, her shoulders visibly relax, the lines of tension melting from her frame. After a moment, her gaze flicks up to mine and holds.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks, her voice quiet but steady.
I swallow, caught off guard by her sudden intensity. “Like what?”
“Like I’m some kind of… puzzle you’re trying to figure out.”
I lean back against the headboard, my eyes still locked on hers. “Maybe you are.”
“Nathan,” she warns, but there’s a softness in her voice that betrays her.
I move without thinking, crossing the small space between us and moving to the couch beside her. The air shifts again, thickening with something unspoken. My gift to her is still in her lap, but her attention is entirely on me now.
“This is a bad idea,” she repeats, but she doesn’t move away.
Charmingly, I’m reminded of our previous ‘bad idea’ earlier on the deck. She had looked so beautiful with her lips swollen from our passionate kiss set against the sunset. “Probably,” I echo back, my voice low and grin wide.
The space between us disappears as I cup her face gently, tilting her head up. She leans into my hand, her mouth soft, expectant. I let my thumb caress her cheek gently, and then I’m kissing her.
It’s different this time. Not hurried or frenetic, but deliberate and all-encompassing. Her hands find my shoulders, then my chest, her grip firm as though she’s trying to hold herself steady. I laugh gently against her lips, pausing for a moment to breathe.
“I don’t think this’ll steady your sea sickness,” I tease.
She doesn’t even open her eyes as she impatiently responds. “Shut up.” She captures me in a sensual kiss this time, not even giving me the opportunity to reply.
Before I can overthink it, I pull her into my lap, her thighs bracketing mine, her dress bunched up around her hips. The kiss deepens, her body grinding against mine as her hands roam my chest. It’s all heat and friction—a tangle of desire neither of us seem able to stop. My hands slide up the outside of her thighs and grip her rocking hips beneath the fabric of her dress, guiding her movements. The sensation is maddening, indulging in such a deliciously torturous act.
Her fingers tug at my hair. Her breath comes in short, uneven gasps against my mouth. Every sound she makes, every shift of her body, sends all the blood to my rock hard cock, drowning out reason.
“Nathan,” she whispers, her voice raw, shaky—half warning, half plea.
The way she breathes my name is my undoing. For a moment, I’m sure I’ll let us crash through every boundary we’ve set. But then reality punches through the haze—not with cold logic, but with something far worse.
The truth.
This isn’t just heat. Just tension. Just a moment I can walk away from. This is her. And she is the one thing I can’t seem to turn my back on.
I don’t know if I can stop. I don’t know if I want to.
My grip tightens at her hips, my fingers flexing against the fabric of her dress. I need to pull away. I know I do. But Dana’s breath is warm against my jaw, her hands still gripping my shoulders like she’s anchoring herself to me.
Like she doesn’t want to let go either.
I pull back a fraction, forehead resting against hers as we both try to catch our breath. Her weight is still pressing into me, but the frantic urgency between us dulls into something more dangerous. Something much worse.
Something inevitable.
“This is all pretend, remember…” she says softly, but there’s no conviction in it. Her voice shakes, like she’s trying to convince herself more than me. “We’re doing this to seal a deal. Impress a client. That’s…that’s it.”
“That’s it.”
The lie scrapes against my throat. My pulse is still hammering, and I can’t tell if it’s from how close she is or the war raging inside me. This isn’t pretend. It hasn’t been for a while, has it?
Her fingers twitch against my shoulders, like she’s expecting me to let go, but I don’t. I can’t. Every muscle in my body is tight, screaming, a battle between what I should do and what I want.
“Say it again.” My voice is lower, rougher than I mean for it to be. I shift my grip, dragging her just a little closer. “Tell me this is just an act.”
Her lips part, but she doesn’t speak. Her silence is enough to destroy me.
I exhale sharply, my pulse a riot against my ribs. “Yeah,” I murmur, voice thick and strained. “You’re right.”
But my hands stay at her hips, holding her steady, even as every cell in my body wants to pull her closer.
For a moment, we’re frozen, caught in the aftershocks of something we shouldn’t have started. Slowly, she eases back, sliding off my lap and settling beside me on the couch. Her gaze is everywhere but on me, her cheeks flushed.
She picks up her pajamas from the top of her luggage and disappears into the bathroom. I exhale, dragging a hand down my face. My pulse still pounds, my skin still burns where she was.
I should move. I should turn off the light, check my phone—anything but sit here, caught in the ghost of her warmth.
But I don’t.
Because if I move, I’ll have to acknowledge what just happened. That she kissed me back. That I wanted more. That I still do. This was supposed to be pretend. But nothing about the way she looked at me felt fake.
I scrub a hand over my jaw again, forcing the thought away. It doesn’t matter. It can’t.
When she emerges, she doesn’t look at me, doesn’t say anything as she curls up in the corner of the couch with her book.
Like nothing happened.
“Goodnight, Nathan,” she murmurs, her voice barely audible as she picks up the book she’d abandoned earlier, curling into the corner of the couch.
“Goodnight, Dana,” I whisper back, the words dragging out of me as I force myself to move away.
The soft rustle of pages fills the space. An unspoken truce settles over us, even as my body still burns with the memory of her. I retreat to my side of the room, but the thought of her—her touch, her voice, her body—lingers, inescapable, as I close my eyes and try to will myself to sleep.