Page 31 of Claimed By My Exiled Alphas
My breath caught. The air between us had changed, charged with something I definitely shouldn’t be feeling for a man I’d only known fourteen days.
“Cassian...”
“I’m not asking for anything,” he continued, his voice low and careful. “I’m just being honest about why I keep finding excuses to stop by. Why I check my phone too often to see if you’ve texted. Why I drove to Millbrook tonight because I couldn’t stop thinking about whether you’d eaten dinner.”
“Why?” The word came out barely above a whisper.
“Because watching you work on this bistro, seeing you rebuild something that matters after someone tried to destroy you, it makes me want to give you every resource I have.” He paused, and something shifted in his expression. “And because being around you makes me remember what it feels like to care about something beyond strategic positioning and damage control.”
I should say something. Should acknowledge what he’d just revealed or deflect with humor or establish the professional boundaries this conversation was thoroughly destroying.
Instead, I found myself staring at his mouth, watching the way his lips moved when he spoke, wondering what they’d feel like against mine. I’d caught myself doing that more often over the past week, had started noticing details about him that had nothing to do with business consulting. The way his hands moved when he explained complicated concepts. How his voice dropped slightly when he was being sincere instead of professional. The rare genuine smile that made him look younger, less guarded.
Stop it. I was already confused about Jace, already feeling guilty about the time I’d been spending with Hollis. I couldn’t add Cassian to the list of men who made my pulse race and my carefully constructed plans feel inadequate.
“I should tell you something,” I said, forcing myself to look away from his mouth and back to his eyes. Not safer at all, because his eyes were intense and focused on me like I was the only thing that mattered in this moment. “I’m not good at this. At people caring about me without wanting something in return. Vincent made sure I understood that every gesture of support came with expectations attached.”
“I’m not Vincent.”
“I know you’re not. I’ve learned that over the past two weeks.” I picked at the pad thai without eating it. “But that doesn’t change the fact that my instinct is to look for the angle, to figure out what you’re getting out of this arrangement. Because if I can’t figure out your angle, then I have to accept that you’re just helping because you want to. And that’s terrifying.”
“Why is it terrifying?”
“Because people who help without expecting payment eventually get tired of not being compensated. And then theyleave, or they get angry, or they start collecting on debts I didn’t know I was accumulating.” The words tumbled out faster than I could stop them. “So I need to know what you want, Cassian. What the price is for all of this support. Because there’s always a price.”
He was quiet for a long moment, and I watched emotions flicker across his face. In two weeks, I’d gotten better at reading him, but this expression was new. Something raw and honest that he usually kept hidden.
Then he shifted, moving closer until we were sharing the same pool of light from the streetlamps outside. Close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from his body, close enough that the cedar and leather scent wrapped around me like a physical touch.
“The only thing I want,” he said carefully, “is for you to succeed. To build this bistro and prove to yourself that what Vincent did to you in Chicago doesn’t define what you’re capable of creating.” He paused. “And maybe, if you’re willing, to let me be someone you trust. Someone who gets to watch you thrive instead of just survive.”
“That’s all?”
“That’severything.”
The intensity in his voice made my chest tight. This was dangerous territory. Emotional intimacy that would complicate everything I’d been trying to keep simple. But god, the way he looked at me made me want to believe him.
Over the past two weeks, he’d proven himself reliable in ways that mattered. He showed up when he said he would. He answered questions honestly even when the answers were complicated. He never made me feel stupid for not understanding building codes or contractor negotiations. He treated my competence as fact rather than something I needed to prove.
And somewhere in those two weeks, professional appreciation had shifted into something else entirely.
“I should get back to work,” I said, even though the last thing I wanted was to return to permit applications and electrical load calculations. “These forms need to be submitted tomorrow.”
“Let me help.” He reached for the nearest stack of papers before I could protest. “You handle the culinary specifications, I’ll cross-reference the building codes. We’ll get through it faster together.”
This had become our pattern over the past week. Working side by side, his analytical mind translating bureaucratic language into practical requirements while my culinary expertise handled the technical specifications. We’d developed an easy rhythm, anticipating each other’s questions, filling gaps in each other’s knowledge.
But tonight felt different. Tonight, the air between us hummed with things we weren’t saying. Every time he leaned over to point at something on my paperwork, I caught that cedar and leather scent and had to resist the urge to lean closer. Every time our hands brushed reaching for the same document, electricity shot up my arm.
“This section doesn’t make sense,” he said around eleven, frowning at a health department form. “They’re asking for equipment specifications you already provided three pages ago.”
“Welcome to bureaucracy. Where redundancy is a feature, not a bug.” I stretched, feeling my spine pop after hours of sitting on the floor. “Sometimes I think they design these forms to be deliberately confusing so fewer people can successfully complete them.”
“Probably.” He set down the form and rolled his shoulders, and I found myself watching the movement with more attention than was strictly professional. Watching the way his shirt pulled across his back, the flex of muscle underneath expensive fabric.
I jerked my gaze away, heat climbing my neck. This was getting ridiculous. I needed to get my attraction under control before I did something stupid like lean over and kiss him.
“How long have you been planning this bistro?” he asked, seemingly oblivious to my internal chaos.
