Ella's heart was beating too fast.
Not from panic — not this time. It was something else, something warm and terrifying curling inside her chest, making her feel both alive and utterly exposed under the weight of his gaze.
Nicholas hadn't deepened the kiss. Not yet. After that first soft press of his lips to hers, he'd simply stopped, like he was giving her a choice.
It rattled her more than any hungry, aggressive kiss could have.
He wasn't rushing.
He wasn't taking.
He was… waiting.
Waiting for her to meet him there.
Waiting for her to want it on her own terms, not because she felt obligated or because she was afraid of losing him or because the world outside this penthouse had turned her life into a feeding frenzy for strangers.
Just… her. Just them.
No cameras. No rumors. No debts. No headlines.
Just the quiet hum of the heater. The distant sounds of the city through insulated glass. His breath, steady but strained, against her cheek.
