Page 8 of Only Ever Mine

I could feel the heat of him, the way his presence seemed to fill the air around me.

“I don’t think you realize how rare you are, Scarlett,” he murmured, his hand brushing against mine.

My heart raced, a mix of desire and disbelief. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. And yet, it felt more real than anything I’d ever experienced.

When his lips finally met mine, it wasn’t tentative. It was consuming, like he’d been holding back all night and couldn’t anymore.

His hands slid to my waist, pulling me closer, and I melted into him, every rational thought slipping away.

But just as quickly as it started, it ended. The room dissolved, fading into darkness, and I woke with a start, my heart pounding.

The faint light of dawn crept through the curtains, and Milo was curled at my feet, oblivious to my restless night.

I let out a shaky breath, running a hand through my hair. It was just a dream. Just a stupid, ridiculous dream.

But as I lay there, staring at the ceiling, I couldn’t help but wonder: what if it wasn’t? What if Christian Valen was more than just a fleeting encounter?

And what if, just maybe, he’d been dreaming of me, too?

3

CHRISTIAN/ V

CHRISTIAN

I stepped into Amélie and paused, letting the atmosphere wash over me.

The low murmur of conversations mixed with the gentle clink of silverware, creating a cozy kind of buzz.

Warm, golden light bathed the polished wooden tables, and the air carried the faint, mouthwatering scent of rosemary and garlic.

It was exactly what I’d pictured—inviting, elegant, and undeniably Scarlett.

I’d replayed my brief encounter with Scarlett at the gala more times than I cared to admit.

Her quick wit and sharp tongue had stayed with me.

Not to mention the way her eyes sparked with passion every time she spoke about her restaurant.

I’d told myself I was here to discuss business, to make an offer she wouldn’t refuse, but I knew better. I’d come for her.

She stood near the kitchen pass, her sleeves rolled up and her hair pinned back in a way that was effortlessly sexy.

Her focus was split between plating a dish and directing her staff, her hands moving with precision.

She hadn’t seen me yet, and I took a moment to watch her.

“Table for one?” A hostess greeted me, her voice professional but tinged with surprise.

“No table, thank you. I’m here to see Scarlett.”

The hostess glanced toward Scarlett, hesitating. “She’s busy?—”

“She won’t mind,” I said, my tone leaving no room for argument.

The woman nodded reluctantly, leading me toward the kitchen.

When Scarlett finally noticed me, her brows lifted in surprise, but there was something else too—curiosity, maybe even a hint of pleasure.

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