Chapter 24
Chapter 24:
Eliza lay perfectly still, staring at the ceiling. She was trapped. A billionaire octopus had claimed her for the night. She waited for him to try something — to move his hand, to kiss her. But his breathing evened out within seconds, growing deep and rhythmic. He was asleep.
She turned her head slightly to study him. In the dim light of the passing storm, his face was relaxed, the sharp lines of his jaw softened. His long eyelashes cast faint shadows across his cheeks. He looked younger. He looked far less like the machine Anson had described and far more like a man who was simply exhausted.
He’s a machine. A cold, heartless machine.
This man — clinging to her like a lifeline, seeking her warmth in the dark — was no machine. Eliza felt a strange, overwhelming urge to touch his damp hair. It looked soft. She resisted.
He’s just drunk, she told herself. Tomorrow he’ll be the CEO again.
𝗕𝗲 𝘱𝘢𝗋𝗍 of о𝗎𝗿 с𝗼𝗆𝗆un𝗂𝘵𝘆 о𝗇 g𝗮𝘭ոо𝘃еlѕ.с𝗈𝗺
But the warmth of his body was undeniable. It seeped into her side and chased away the chill left by the encounter at the lake. It made her feel safe. For the first time in years, she wasn’t sleeping with one eye open, waiting for Anson to hammer on her door. The monster was outside. The dragon was in her bed, keeping watch.
She drifted off eventually, the sound of the rain and Dallas’s breathing pulling her down into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Three hours later, the storm had passed.
Dallas opened his eyes in the darkness, perfectly still.
He hadn’t been that drunk. Tipsy, perhaps — but the stumbling, the neediness, the helpless weight of him? That had been a performance. It was the only way he could close the distance without frightening her. The only way he could hold her without making her run.
He felt her small frame rising and falling with each breath against his chest. She was warm. She was here.
He pressed his lips to the top of her head so softly she didn’t stir.
“Mine,” he whispered into the darkness.
It wasn’t a question. It was simply a fact.
Sunlight hit Eliza’s face like a physical slap. She groaned, scrunching her eyes shut and trying to burrow back into the warmth.
She patted the space beside her. The sheets were cool. Empty.
Her eyes snapped open. “Was it a dream?” she murmured.
She sat up. She was still fully dressed in her sweater and jeans, though both were thoroughly wrinkled. Then she heard the water running. The door to the en-suite bathroom swung open, and steam billowed out carrying the scent of sandalwood and citrus soap.
Dallas walked out.
Eliza stopped breathing.
He was wearing a towel — white, fluffy, hanging dangerously low on his hips. And that was it. Water droplets clung to his chest, tracing the defined ridges of his torso before disappearing into the white terrycloth. His shoulders were broad, the muscles shifting beneath his skin as he towel-dried his hair with a smaller hand towel.
Eliza slapped both hands over her eyes. “Dallas! Put clothes on p>
“It is my house,” came the calm, amused reply. “And my wife’s room p>