Twenty four

The ride back was suffocating in its silence, a sharp contrast to the noise of the event we had just left behind. Ivy sat beside me, her gaze out the window, lost in thought. Brielle's carefully chosen words clearly had their intended effect. The moment Ivy and Brielle exchanged their final words played over in my mind. I knew Brielle's game, the way she relished stirring up trouble, particularly when it came to Ivy.

But Ivy remained silent, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She didn't ask me about it, didn't demand answers, and I wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed by that. The truth hung between us like a shadow, the past inching its way into the present. But even with those lingering thoughts, my mind couldn't stay focused on Brielle for long. Not when Ivy looked the way she did tonight.

That dress.  

Cream-colored, it clung to her in all the right ways, every inch of her carefully adorned with a quiet sophistication that only heightened her natural beauty. The fabric swept down to the floor, elegant and regal, but it was the bare expanse of her back that had driven me to distraction. My hand had rested there for hours, the soft curve of her spine beneath my fingertips, skin warm against my palm. I had kept it there as a reminder—maybe to her, but mostly to myself. A reminder that she was close, tangible, but not mine to touch beyond what the situation required.

Her scent was another thing entirely. Jasmine. Soft, yet potent, it hung around her like a cloud, more intoxicating tonight than usual. As she leaned slightly toward the window, her hair shifted, releasing a fresh wave of that scent. It was overwhelming, creeping under my skin, invading my senses. I shifted slightly in my seat, willing myself to focus, to resist the pull of her presence.

But it wasn't just her scent or her back that had me in knots. Her lips—God, her lips. I could barely tear my gaze away from them all night. The way they curved, how they parted slightly when she was listening to someone speak, and the subtle sheen of gloss that made them look even more inviting. More than once, I had caught myself imagining what they would feel like under mine. I tried to rationalize it—blame it on proximity or the stress of the evening—but I wasn't fooling myself.  

I was losing control.  

I could feel it slipping—the carefully constructed distance I had put between us since the moment she arrived at the mansion. What was it about her? She hadn't just walked into my life; she had crashed into it, tearing apart the walls I had built around myself for years. It was frustrating and confusing, yet I couldn't deny the strange sense of anticipation it brought with it.

I glanced at her again, stealing another look. She was still lost in her thoughts, still unaware of the war raging in my head. Her lips pressed together, maybe from something Brielle had said. I should ask her what was going through her mind, offer some reassurance or at least a distraction. But then, I'd have to admit that Brielle's words had struck a nerve, that there was something—someone—unresolved in my past.

Instead, I stayed silent. The weight of the night hung over both of us, but I was distracted by something much simpler, much more dangerous. Desire. And it was stronger than ever.

I shifted in my seat again, cursing myself for letting it get this far. I was better than this—more controlled. I had always kept my emotions in check, and yet here I was, teetering on the edge just because she wore a dress that exposed the smooth, soft skin of her back.

She shifted slightly, and the car's movement caused her bare shoulder to graze against my arm. Even that faint touch was enough to set off something electric between us. My jaw clenched involuntarily as I fought to keep the calm façade I'd mastered for years. But in that moment, it was a losing battle.

What the hell was wrong with me?  

I had no business feeling this way, especially not about her. I should be focusing on the mission, on uncovering the secrets the Coltons were hiding, but all I could think about was how she felt next to me. How her presence, her warmth, was both a comfort and a challenge.  

Ivy turned her head slightly, as if she sensed my gaze. I immediately looked away, keeping my focus on the road.  

I had to get it together.  

As we neared the resort, the tension between us remained unspoken, hovering like the night mist. I didn't know what she would say once we stopped. Hell, I didn't even know what I would say if she asked me about the Brielle again, or the way I had kept her close the entire evening.

But one thing was clear: I was losing my grip around her. And that terrified me.