Chapter 142
Chapter 142:
The overhead lights flickered. Then, with a sharp zap, they went out entirely. The apartment plunged into darkness.
“Oh no,” Eliza breathed. “A power outage? On my first night p>
Dallas checked his phone. It wasn’t him this time — the streetlights outside were dark too. A blown transformer somewhere on the block.
“Stay here,” Dallas said, his voice calm and unhurried in the dark. “I’ll check the fuse box p>
He stood and moved through the room with an unnerving, perfect ease — navigating without hesitation, without stumbling. He had always liked the dark.
The lights flickered back on after twenty minutes. Dallas had “fixed” it — which had amounted to flipping the breaker back on once the city grid reset.
𝖱𝘦𝖺𝖽 𝘸𝗶𝘵𝗁𝗈𝘂t 𝗶n𝗍еr𝗿𝘂𝗉𝘵𝗂𝗈ո𝗌 о𝗇 𝗴𝖺lո𝘰𝘃e𝗅𝘴.сo𝗆
Dinner wound down. The wine bottle sat half-empty on the table.
“It’s getting late,” Eliza hinted, carrying the plates to the sink.
Dallas settled back on the sofa and loosened his tie. “I drank too much wine. Can’t drive p>
Eliza glanced at the bottle. He had barely finished a glass and a half. This was a man who drank scotch like water.
“You have a driver,” she reminded him. “Weston is outside p>
“I gave him the night off,” Dallas said, without missing a beat. “He has a date p>
Eliza sighed. She knew he was lying. She also didn’t want him to leave.
“You can take the couch,” she said.
Dallas smirked. “Generous p>
Eliza went to shower, locking the bathroom door behind her, her heart pounding.
The hot water unknotted her shoulders and washed away the stress of the move — the smell of cardboard boxes, the long day, all of it. She wrapped a fluffy white towel around herself.
Then she realized she had left her pajamas in the bedroom.
He’s on the couch, she thought. I’ll just run across the hall.
She opened the bathroom door. Steam billowed out into the narrow hallway.
Dallas was not on the couch.
He was leaning against the wall directly between the bathroom and the bedroom, jacket removed, sleeves rolled to the elbow.
Eliza let out a soft, startled sound and clutched the towel to her chest.
Dallas’s eyes traveled down her bare legs. They darkened instantly.
“You —” she stammered.
“I was looking for water,” he said. His voice came out low and rough.
He stepped closer. The hallway was too narrow. Eliza backed up until her shoulders met the doorframe.
“You’re supposed to be asleep,” she whispered.
“I can’t sleep,” he admitted. He placed both hands flat against the wall on either side of her head, boxing her in. “Not when you’re this close p>
The smell of him — expensive soap, wine, and warmth — filled her senses entirely.
“Even if you’re only here out of gratitude,” he murmured, a raw vulnerability in his voice that stunned her, “your body is mine tonight p>
“What are you talking about?” she breathed. “It’s not gratitude p>
Her words hung in the air between them, fragile and honest. He searched her eyes and found no deception — only a bewildered sincerity that cracked his composure open.