Chapter 15 LILY
LILY
The elevator doors close behind us with a soft mechanical whisper that feels too loud in the sudden silence. The small space shrinks around me, the walls pressing closer than they should. Erion stands less than two feet away, and somehow that distance feels both too much and nowhere near enough.
I shouldn't be this aware of him.
I shouldn't notice the way he takes up space like he owns it, shoulders broad enough to block my view of the mirrored wall behind him.
Shouldn't register the precise angle of his jaw or the way his presence fills every inch of available air until there's nothing left to breathe that doesn't taste like him.
But I do notice. Every detail burns itself into my awareness whether I want it there or not.
His cologne hits me first. Sharp and woodsy with something darker underneath, something that makes my skin prickle with an awareness I don't want to name.
My pulse kicks up without permission. Heat spreads through my chest, unfurling like something waking from sleep. My breathing gets shallow, pulling in air that feels too thin, too warm, too charged with whatever's happening in this tiny metal box.
I clear my throat, trying to break whatever spell is wrapping around us. "Where are we going shopping?"
He chuckles. The sound rolls through the elevator like thunder before a storm, low and amused and entirely too knowing. "Do I look like I know where to shop for high-end clothes?"
I turn to look at him properly.
Combat boots, black and scuffed at the toes.
Faded jeans with rips at the knees that definitely weren't manufactured in a factory, the edges frayed and genuine.
Black t-shirt stretched across his chest, the fabric thin enough that I can see the definition of muscle underneath.
A black leather jacket, creased at the elbows and shoulders, broken in until it fits him like a second skin.
Neck tattoos creep up toward his jaw, dark lines that disappear into the shaved side of his head where more ink vanishes into his hairline.
He looks dangerous. Rough. Like he walked off a motorcycle and into this luxury building by accident, like he doesn't belong here any more than I do.
I let my gaze travel slowly from his boots all the way up to meet his eyes, taking my time, appreciating what I see even though I absolutely shouldn't.
But I do it anyway.
His pale blue eyes darken as I watch. The color shifts from ice to something deeper, more intense. His jaw tightens, a muscle jumping beneath the stubble that shadows his face.
"Careful." His voice scrapes over my nerves. "If you keep looking at me like that, I'm going to push that emergency button and do what we both want."
My breathing stops, caught somewhere between my lungs and my throat.
He moves toward me. One step that closes half the distance between us. Then another that eliminates the rest until he's right there, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to keep eye contact. Backing me into the corner of the elevator until the cool metal presses against my shoulder blades.
My heart slams against my ribs. Too fast. Too hard. The rhythm erratic and wild.
He's going to kiss me.
I want him to. Want to know what his mouth tastes like, what his hands would feel like tangled in my hair, what that dangerous edge would translate to when turned toward pleasure instead of threat.
The elevator dings.
The sound cuts through the tension like a blade through silk, sharp and final and entirely unwelcome. We both freeze, caught in the moment, neither wanting to be the first to break it.
The doors slide open with a mechanical groan.
Erion presses his forehead against mine, the contact gentle despite everything else about him that's hard and dangerous. His breath fans across my lips, warm and unsteady. "Saved by the bell."
Someone clears their throat behind us. The sound is pointed, deliberate, dripping with judgment.
We both turn our heads without pulling apart.
A woman stands in the lobby, middle-aged and perfectly assembled. Her hair is shellacked into submission. Her expression is pure disdain, lips pressed into a thin line as she looks at us like we're something unpleasant she found at the bottom of her expensive shoe.
Erion adjusts himself. Right there. Right in front of her. His hand moving over the obvious bulge in his jeans without any shame whatsoever, making sure she sees exactly what she's interrupting and exactly how much he doesn't care about her opinion.
"Elevator's all yours." His voice is casual.
The woman's face goes red, two spots of color blooming high on her cheeks. She steps into the elevator without a word, her spine rigid, radiating offense and outrage in equal measure.
I stare at Erion as the doors close behind us. "You're impossible."
He grins, unrepentant and entirely too pleased with himself. Grabs my hand without asking permission, his palm warm and slightly rough against mine, and pulls me toward the exit with the kind of confidence that suggests he's never doubted a single decision in his life.
Outside, an SUV is parked in a no-parking zone right next to a sleek black car that sits low to the ground like a predator at rest. The kind of car that makes people stop and stare, that announces money and power and danger all at once.
A huge man steps out of the SUV the moment we appear, moving with the kind of fluid grace that seems impossible for someone his size. He's built like a wall, broad and solid and immovable.
"Boss," he says to Erion, the single word carrying layers of meaning I can't quite parse.
"Any trouble?" Erion asks.
"No. Everything's good."
"Where can we go to shop for fancy clothes?"
The man looks confused, his eyebrows pulling together like the question doesn't compute. He shrugs, massive shoulders moving under his jacket. "The Magnificent Mile? Maybe?"
"Follow us."
Erion guides me to the black car with a hand on the small of my back, the touch burning through the thin fabric of my shirt. Opens the passenger door with his free hand like it's the most natural thing in the world.
I slide inside. The interior is all leather, sleek and expensive and smelling faintly of Erion's cologne. The console displays two words in chrome: Lamborghini Urus.
I'm almost afraid to sit all the way back. Afraid to touch anything.
Erion gets in the driver's side, filling the space with his presence, making the car feel smaller just by being in it. Starts the engine. The sound is a deep growl that vibrates through the seats, through my bones, settling somewhere low in my belly.
He drives like he was born behind the wheel. Confident and aggressive, weaving through traffic with the kind of precision that should be terrifying but somehow isn't. Each turn is calculated, each lane change deliberate, the car responding to his hands like an extension of his body.
A few minutes later, he parks in front of a high-end boutique. Right in front. In a spot that's definitely not a parking spot.
I laugh, the sound bubbling up before I can stop it. "That was fast. We could have walked."
"Why would we do that when we can drive and make an entrance?" He says it like it's obvious, like choosing the other option never even occurred to him.
We get out. The man from the SUV takes up position near the car, standing guard, his presence enough to make anyone think twice about calling a tow truck.
Erion holds the store door open for me, the gesture strangely courteous from someone who just violated at least three traffic laws in the last five minutes. I step inside.
The store is beautiful. All white marble and soft lighting that makes everything glow. Dresses hang on racks like art pieces, each one more stunning than the last, price tags conspicuously absent because if you have to ask, you can't afford it.
Erion leans close, his lips brushing my ear, breath warm and distracting. "Choose whatever you like. It's my treat."
I turn to protest, already forming the words about how I can't possibly accept, how this is too much, how I don't need him buying me things.
He waves me away before I can get a single word out. "Go. Shop."
I move through the store slowly, running my fingers over fabrics I've never felt before.
Silk that slides like water under my touch.
Velvet that feels like touching a cloud, impossibly soft and somehow substantial at the same time.
Each texture is a small revelation, a reminder that there are levels of luxury I've never even imagined.
I catch myself wondering what the men would want to see me wear.
What would make Luan's jaw tighten the way it does when he's trying not to react.
What would make Artan's eyes darken with that heat I sometimes catch when he thinks I'm not looking.
What would make Erion smile that dangerous smile that makes my stomach flip.
I want to impress them.
I don't know why. Don't know when I started caring what they think, when their opinions began to matter more than my own comfort or common sense.
But I do care. More than I should.
A saleswoman approaches, perfectly dressed and perfectly made up, her smile professional but cold. Like she's calculated exactly how much commission I'm worth and found the number disappointing. "Do you need assistance?"
"I'm looking for a dress," I say, trying to sound confident, trying to belong in a space where I clearly don't. "I'm going to Obsidian tonight."
"Of course." Her smile stays in place, frozen and artificial. "We have a section for evening wear that would be perfect."
She pauses, her gaze sliding past me to Erion. Her expression shifts, becomes harder, more judgmental, upper lip curling just slightly in distaste.
"Could you ask your bodyguard to wait outside?" Her voice is loud enough for him to hear. "He's making some of our other clients uncomfortable."
I feel Erion go still behind me. Feel the shift in his energy from relaxed to coiled tight, dangerous in a way that makes the air feel thinner.