Chapter Sixteen #2
Dave's hold on me tightens. His gaze moves from me to Thorne, then back to me
“Really?” I look at Thorne. One word, flat as a closed door.
He doesn't apologize. Doesn't explain. Just holds my gaze like he has every right to be standing here, and the absolute certainty of it makes me want to push him away, even as my body wants to pull him closer.
Dave seems to sense it. He doesn't drop his hand, but it loosens. Just slightly. The difference between holding on and holding space.
"Ivy?" A question without words.
This needs to end. Either between him and me or me and Thorne. "It's okay," I pat his chest. "I need to talk to him."
His jaw works. Then he exhales slowly through his nose, and his hand drops from my waist. He doesn't storm off.
Doesn't make a scene. He steps back, meets my eyes with a look that says he sees exactly what's happening and hasn’t decided what to do about it.
“Find me after,” he says, then walks away.
Thorne's hands claim my waist. And it's not the respectful, barely-there touch of Dave, but a possessive grip that broadcasts intent.
We are too close for propriety, close enough that I can feel the heat of him through the thin fabric of my dress.
His cologne wraps around me, notes of cedar and bergamot clouding my senses.
"You just cut in on my date," I say.
"I know."
"That's all you've got?"
"Yes."
The simplicity of it should infuriate me. It does infuriate me. But his hands on me make it very hard to remember why that should matter. Not that I’ll admit it to him.
"Don't," I warn.
"Don't what?"
"Whatever you're thinking right now."
The corner of his mouth shifts. Not quite a smile. But close enough to make me want to step on his foot.
He pulls me closer. "You're making a scene," I murmur, even as my traitorous body melts against his.
"No one's watching," he replies, his breath warm against my ear.
"You don't know that. I'm your lawyer. This doesn't look professional."
His laugh is low and without humor. "No one here knows who you are, Ivy. They're not going to care."
I stiffen in his arms, his words cutting through me like a winter wind. “I get it, Thorne. I’m nobody. But somebody might recognize you and take your picture. And then look into who I am.”
He leans back. “I—”
“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” I push out of his embrace. “I need some air.”
I step from his arms and walk away, not caring that people might notice. My cheeks burn, eyes prickling with unwanted tears I refuse to let fall. I need the bathroom. I need a mirror and cold water and thirty seconds to remind myself that I am a grown woman who does not cry over men in clubs.
I'm pushing through the crowd toward the back when the bathroom door swings open and Dave steps out, nearly walking straight into me.
We both stop.
"Hey." His voice is quiet, not unkind.
The timing is so absurd I almost laugh. "Hey."
He looks at my face and skips straight past small talk. "It's him, isn't it?”
Not quite a question. I don't answer, which is its own answer.
"I was hoping, you know. With you here for a few months, I thought maybe we could actually try for something real. But I see I’m too late.” He says it without bitterness, which is somehow worse than if he'd been cruel about it. Cruelty would have been easier to walk away from.
"Dave—"
“But Ivy, be careful. I’ve heard things about Thorne Blackstone. The kind of things that don't make for a happy ending."
"I know his reputation."
"Do you?" His eyes hold mine. There’s a touch of jealousy in them, but mostly I see genuine concern. “Be careful."
The music thumps through the walls. Someone laughs loudly down the hall. And Dave stands there, waiting for something. Maybe for me to change my mind. Give him a chance.
But that wouldn’t be fair to him.
"You deserve someone whose head is fully in it," I say softly.
"So do you," he replies. Then he nods once and walks away, disappearing into the crowd.
Thorne appears around a corner. “What the hell was that?” he demands. A muscle pulses at his temple, and his eyes have gone stormy.
I lift my chin. "You made yourself perfectly clear. I'm a nobody in your world, right? Just someone to fuck and forget." I gesture toward where we left Heather. "You've done it before. Hell, you already did it to me."
He steps closer, crowding me against the wall."What are you talking about?"
"We slept together, and then you ignored me. No more morning swims. You wouldn't even look at me. But now some other guy dances with me and suddenly you care?"
"I do care! That's the fucking problem."
He moves closer still, until barely an inch separates us. The narrow space between us becomes its own universe—hot, charged, dangerous. Time suspends in the vacuum we’ve created, where even breathing is an act of surrender.
“I shouldn’t have come tonight,” he whispers.
“Then why did you?”
His throat works as he swallows, and his eyes that usually reveal nothing, flash with raw honesty.“Because when you told me you wanted me here. With you. I couldn’t stay away.”
A door opens further down the hallway, voices spilling out. Thorne’s hand finds mine, fingers interlacing as he pulls me toward a door marked “Staff Only.” He turns the handle, and to my surprise, it opens.
The room beyond is small. I’m not sure if it’s an office or a storage area. There’s a desk pushed against one wall and shelves lined with bottles and supplies. Thorne closes the door behind us, the click of the latch echoing in the sudden quiet.