Page 123 of The Contract

Because he’s still watching me like that.

Like I matter.

Like I mean something to him.

His hand moves before I can think, his thumb grazing over the silky fabric just above my knee. It’s the barest touch, barely anything at all, but it steals my breath, the warmth of it sinking beneath my skin, setting fire to something I can’t name.

He lingers, his fingers brushing together after, like he’s memorizing the feel of me against them.

Like he knows he shouldn’t have touched me but couldn’t stop himself.

My heart pounds, but I manage to keep my voice light. “Well, if I forget to tell you later…” I pause, letting myself take him in—the sharp edges of his jaw, the way the dim light softens him in a way I’m not used to seeing. “I had a really great time tonight.”

The air between us tightens, the weight of something unsaid pressing down on my chest, making it harder to breathe.

His expression shifts, the usual sharpness replaced by something softer, something I don’t think I’ve ever seen on him before.

He looks happy.

Genuinely happy.

And for a moment, I forget that any of this is temporary.

That the contract ends soon.

That none of this is real.

I can’t look away and neither can he.

The space between us could vanish so easily. His minty breath would mingle with mine.

Damien drops his gaze to my mouth, and I know he’s thinking about it too. The tension stretches, so tight it might snap, and I know—if he leans in, I won’t stop him.

But I’m not going to be the one that makes it happen. I’ll not be the paid escort who seduces her Contract. Who couldbe blamed for taking things too far, coercing the agreement for some kind of gain.

He demanded the contract have no physical aspect to it. The sexual bargaining that is common in a profession such as mine. A Ledger Companion.

He didn’t want it. Didn’t want it to complicate the arrangement.

But now–the way he is looking at me–

The lights dim.

The hush of the opera house fills the space between us, shattering the fragile moment before it can break me completely.

A waiter appears, setting down two delicate flutes of champagne, the bubbles rising in tiny streams.

We take the flutes. Our glasses sharing a soft clink before we both take a sip. Damien nearly drains his. A look of exasperation in his eyes nearly makes me chuckle but I tamper it down.

Thankful the darker theatre is helping to hide the rosy burn creeping up my cheeks.

The first notes rise, thick with emotion, wrapping around me in waves. It’s powerful in a way I hadn’t expected, the rawness of the voices, the way they carry through the vast space, filling every empty corner.

I sit frozen, my lips parting slightly as the performance unfolds before me.

I’ve never been to the opera before.

Never had something like this done for me.

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