Chapter 42
Chapter Forty-Two
AUDRA
By the time we enter the room, it’s already clear.
We move together like this isn’t new.
Like our bodies learned the rhythm before our heads caught up.
His hand rests at my lower back—light, possessive without being territorial. I lean into it deliberately.
The room is elegant. Restrained. Filled with people who measure everything.
He doesn’t.
Not with me.
The hostess greets us by name. He thanks her, pulls my chair out, waits until I’m settled before taking his own seat.
It’s seamless. Familiar in a way that makes my chest tighten.
I catch him watching me more than once.
Not scanning the room. Not performing.
Watching me.
Not possession. Attention. I can work with that.
I cross my legs slowly, deliberately. His gaze drops. Lingers. Returns to my face.
If I’m going to be seen, it will be on my terms.
Conversation flows around us—business, polite laughter, names I half-remember.
None of it reaches the space between us.
When he leans in to speak, his mouth brushes close to my ear.
“You look dangerous tonight,” he murmurs.
“Is that a complaint,” I ask.
His smile is slow. “It’s a warning to myself.”
That does things to me.
Dinner unfolds easily. He checks my drink, my plate—subtle, unshowy. When people approach, he shifts just enough that I’m included. Not displayed.
Chuck appears at some point—because of course he does—but Derek intercepts it without effort. A nod. A boundary. No scene. No tension passed to me.
I relax.
Dessert comes. Tiramisu.
He lifts the spoon and pauses.
“Open,” he says quietly.
I do.
He feeds me slowly, watching my reaction, the way my lips close around the spoon. His jaw tightens just a fraction.
“That’s unfair,” I murmur.
He leans closer. “You invited me.”
I take the spoon from his hand and return the favor.
Under the table, his knee presses lightly against mine.
I don’t move away.
The room is full. Loud. Bright.
But the space between us feels contained. Intimate.
When we stand to leave, his hand finds my back again. This time, it stays.
And I know—without rushing it—that we’re moving forward.
Slowly.
Intentionally.
Together.