Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
David
I see him.
Before I hear a word.
Before Bella even finishes talking.
I see this fucking executive prick in the lounge across the way from the recording room, where I set Hilary up before I took Bella and a bunch of sound guys in the booth to work—and this arrogant douche is standing like he belongs here.
But that’s not what has me gritting my teeth.
Nah.
It’s the fact that this guy is way too fucking close to my girl. Smiling like he belongs in her space.
Like he earned it.
Something in me goes cold.
Then hot. Then sharp.
Possessiveness fills me. And it’s instant.
I don’t even question it anymore.
“Thanks for setting up the food,” I say, voice smooth, even, controlled. “Tell Franco we’ll be back in the studio in half an hour.”
I don’t look at him again.
I don’t need to.
Because that wasn’t a suggestion.
That was a dismissal.
He hesitates.
Of course he does.
His eyes flick to her—my Sunshine—like he’s debating whether he’s got a shot.
My jaw tightens.
I lift my gaze just enough.
Meet his eyes. Hold them.
There’s no threat in my expression.
No raised voice.
No posturing.
Just certainty.
You don’t belong here.
He feels it.
I see the moment it lands.
He dips his chin, and he backs the fuck off just like I wanted him to.
“Yeah, sure,” he mutters, already stepping away.
Good.
The door shuts behind him. And the room shifts back into place.
Bella is still buzzing, lost in the music, chewing on a dumpling while replaying the track in her headphones.
“Eat fast. We got more work to do,” I tell her.
She nods, distracted, grabs her plate, and drifts toward the couch—away from us.
Exactly where I want that little rising star.
Because now? Now I’ve got her all to myself.
I build my plate without thinking.
Movements automatic.
Controlled.
Unlike the storm under my skin.
I can feel Hilary beside me.
Not touching. But there.
Close enough that it’s all I’m aware of.
She’s being careful again. Holding back.
Like she’s trying to pretend nothing just happened.
Like she didn’t feel what I felt.
I won’t allow that. So, I wait.
Let her choose where she sits.
She takes a chair at the table.
I follow. Slide into the seat right beside her.
Not across.
Not distant.
Next to her.
Close.
Deliberate.
I’m claiming that space like it’s mine—because it is. I dare anyone to argue at this point.
“What?” she asks immediately.
Sharp.
Guarded.
Good.
She feels it too.
“What?” I repeat, calm.
Her eyes narrow. “There are six other empty chairs.”
“There are.”
“Then why are you sitting next to me?”
Because I don’t like distance between us.
Because I don’t like other men near you.
Because I’ve already crossed the line and I’m not going back.
I lean in slightly.
Close enough that she has to feel it.
“Because I want to, linda. I belong right here,” I say, low.
Her breath stutters. I don’t miss it.
“And this is exactly where I want to be.”
Right next to you.
Within reach.
Where I can see you.
Where I can touch you.
I don’t say any of that out loud, but I also don’t give her time to think.
Thinking is where she pulls away.
I move.
Fast.
Decisive.
My hand slides to her jaw, tilting her face up just enough—and I kiss her.
Harder this time.
Not asking.
Not testing.
Taking.
A controlled kind of hunger—held tight on a leash—but unmistakable.
Mine.
She freezes for half a second.
Shock.
Then heat flickers through her.
I feel it.
That soft give.
That response.
And it hits me straight in the chest like a damn trigger.
I want more.
I almost take more.
But I stop.
Force myself back before I lose control of it completely.
Her lips part.
Her eyes wide.
Breathing uneven.
“David—”
I pull away just enough to look at her. Really look at her.
And I let her see what’s there, just waiting for her.
Then I nod toward her plate.
“Eat.”
Her brows draw together. “You can’t just—what was that?”
“We’ll talk later, linda.”
My voice is steady.
But there’s an edge under it now.
Possession.
Control.
Barely contained.
“Right now?” I nod toward her food again. “You need to eat your dinner.”
She stares at me like she wants to argue.
Like she should.
Like she’s trying to hold on to that line she drew.
Then—slowly—she picks up her fork.
Takes a bite.
And I feel the victory of it down to my tortured soul.
That’s my good girl.
I lean back in my chair, forcing distance between us before I do something reckless.
Before I forget we’re not alone.
Before I forget she’s not mine. Not yet.
Because that’s the truth I’m starting to accept.
I don’t understand what this is.
I don’t understand why her. Why now. Why it feels like something inside me locked into place the second I saw her.
But I do know this—I don’t like anyone else near her.
I don’t like distance between us.
And I sure as hell don’t like pretending this is casual.
I rattled her just now. And maybe I meant to.
But she’s not the only one who feels that way. But maybe I did it because she needs to understand something.
Even if she fights it.
Even if I fight it.
See this thing between us?
It’s not going away. And neither am I.
This time, I’m trying for something I never have before. I’m trying for a future. For her and me together.
This time, I’m trying for us.