Ava wasn't sure why she followed him.
Maybe it was curiosity.
Maybe it was the pull she felt around him.
Or maybe she was just tired of always choosing the safe option.
Whatever the reason, she found herself beside Nicholas as he pushed open the door to the quiet study lounge on the third floor of the library. The room was dim, warm, and empty—just the two of them.
Her heartbeat echoed in her ears.
Nicholas didn't speak at first. He walked ahead and dropped his bag onto a desk, then turned and leaned against it—arms folded, eyes locked on her.
That look again.
The one that made her forget every logical reason to step back.
"So," he said softly, "how long were you going to pretend last night didn't happen?"
Ava crossed her arms, though her voice betrayed her. "I wasn't pretending."
"Really?" Nicholas pushed off the desk and approached her slowly. Deliberately. "Because you ran away before I could even ask if you were okay."
Ava's breath caught. "I wasn't running."
He stopped right in front of her. The kind of close where one wrong breath would make their bodies touch.
"Then what were you doing?"
She swallowed. "Thinking."
Nicholas's fingers reached up—hesitated—then brushed her jaw with maddening gentleness.
Not controlling.
Not forceful.
Just… intentional.
"And what did you think about?" he asked.
Ava knew she should step away.
But she didn't.
"You," she confessed in a whisper, hating how vulnerable it sounded.
Nicholas exhaled sharply, as if that single word hit him somewhere real. His hand slid to the back of her neck, not pulling—just holding, as though grounding himself.
"You drive me insane," he murmured. "You know that?"
Ava's pulse raced. "Good."
Nicholas's lips curved—slow, dangerous, beautiful.
"Careful," he warned quietly. "You don't know what that does to me."
Their eyes locked.
No one moved.
Ava felt heat spreading through her chest, down her arms, pooling low in her stomach. Her breathing turned shallow. The space between them was practically electric.
He lowered his forehead to hers—just like the night before.
But this time felt different.
Deeper.
"Ava…" he murmured, voice rough. "Tell me to stop."
She didn't.
She couldn't.
Her silence was permission.
But instead of kissing her, Nicholas surprised her.
He pulled away.
Just barely—but enough.
Ava blinked, confused. "Why did you—?"
"Because," he interrupted, voice strained, "if I kiss you again right now, I won't stop there."
A flush rushed up her neck. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
Nicholas watched her reaction closely—too closely.
He stepped back, breathing unevenly, running a hand through his hair. "I want you to want me because you choose to. Not because the moment got too intense to think."
Ava stared at him, stunned.
He could have had her right now.
She knew it.
He knew it.
But he didn't take advantage.
He was… holding himself back.
For her.
And that made everything a thousand times more dangerous.
She took a slow step toward him.
Then another.
Until they were almost touching again.
"I'm not scared of wanting you," Ava whispered.
Nicholas's jaw clenched.
"Good," he murmured, voice low and thick, "because I'm done pretending I don't want you."
Their eyes burned into each other—hot, aching, alive.
No kiss.
No touch beyond what was already shared.
Just tension.
Sharp enough to cut.
And that was somehow more intimate than anything else.