5. Clara

5

CLARA

I stand in front of my bedroom mirror, running my hands down the black dress that hugs my curves. What am I doing? Meeting a stranger for dinner isn't like me at all. My fingers trace over my chest where his hand had been earlier, cleaning up the spilled coffee.

A shiver runs through me at the memory. His fingers brushed against my skin, sending sparks of electricity through my body, how those piercing blue eyes bored into mine. God, I'm getting wet just thinking about it.

"Get it together, Clara," I mutter, adjusting my dress for the tenth time. But there's something about Silas that draws me in. That magnetic pull I felt the moment our bodies collided. The warmth of his touch. The subtle dominance in his stance.

My phone buzzes with a text from James about the case, but I ignore it. Tonight isn't about work. Tonight is about following this inexplicable urge that's been building since that café encounter.

I slide on my heels, my heart racing as I check the time. The rational part of my brain screams that this is reckless—meeting a man I barely know. He looked at me like he could see right through me, past all my carefully constructed walls.

My hands shake while I apply my lipstick. Red. Bold. The color makes me feel dangerous and matches the tingling excitement building low in my belly. I press my thighs together, trying to ignore the growing ache.

The doorbell rings, and my breath catches. Silas is here. I take one last look in the mirror, hardly recognizing the woman staring back at me—flushed cheeks, dilated pupils, an air of anticipation radiating from every pore.

What is it about this man that makes me feel so... exposed? Like he can sense every dark thought, every forbidden fantasy I've ever had?

I open the door, and my breath catches. Silas fills the doorframe, his broad shoulders wrapped in a perfectly fitted black coat. His crisp white dress shirt strains against his chest, revealing intricate tattoos that peek above his collar. The sight sends a rush of heat through my core.

"These are for you." His deep voice washes over me as he extends a bouquet of dark red roses mixed with black calla lilies.

"They're beautiful." I take them, my fingers brushing his. That same electric spark from the café shoots through me. "Come in. I need to find a vase."

He steps inside, and I catch his scent—something masculine and spicy that makes my mouth water. My heels click against the hardwood as I lead him through my entryway, hyper-aware of his presence behind me.

I reach for a crystal vase on the top shelf in the kitchen. The dress rides up my thighs as I stretch, and I swear I can feel his eyes burning into my skin. My nipples tighten against the fabric of my dress.

Water splashes into the vase, the sound too loud in the charged silence between us. I arrange the flowers with trembling fingers, trying to steady my racing pulse.

"Perfect." His voice comes from right behind me, closer than I expected. I hadn't even heard him move.

I turn around, and my breath hitches. Silas stands mere inches from me, his body radiating heat. My back presses against the counter's edge as I tilt my head to meet his gaze. Those blue eyes darken as they lock with mine.

"I..." The words die in my throat. My heart pounds so hard I'm sure he can hear it. His cologne fills my senses—dark and masculine.

His hand comes up, fingers ghosting along my jaw. The touch sends sparks of electricity straight to my core. "You're trembling, Clara."

God, the way he says my name. Deep. Commanding. Like he owns it. Owns me.

My lips part, but no sound comes out. I'm trapped between his solid frame and the counter, and I've never felt more alive. More seen. His thumb traces my bottom lip and my knees go weak.

"Tell me what you're thinking." His voice drops lower, rougher.

Heat pools between my thighs. I grip the counter behind me, desperate for something solid to hold onto. "I... I can't think at all."

He steps closer if that's even possible. His thigh slides between my legs, and I bite back a moan. My dress has ridden up, and the friction against my sensitive flesh is maddening.

"Your pulse is racing." His fingers trail down my neck, settling over my thundering heartbeat. "Are you afraid of me, Clara?"

"No." The answer comes instantly, surprising even me because I'm not afraid. I'm electrified. Every nerve ending in my body is singing for his touch.

His other hand finds my hip, fingers digging in possessively. The pressure sends a jolt straight to my clit. My breasts brush against his chest with each rapid breath, and I can feel him hard and long against my stomach.

I stand there, my breath shallow, when Silas suddenly steps back. The loss of his warmth makes me shiver.

"We should head out, " his smooth voice says, breaking through my haze. "Our reservation's at eight."

I blink, trying to clear my head. My heart's still racing, and my legs feel shaky. "Right. Yes. Dinner."

I grab my clutch from the counter, aware of every movement. The black silk of my dress slides against my sensitive skin as I walk. Each step reminds me of the dampness between my thighs.

"After you." Silas holds the door open, ever the gentleman. Such a stark contrast to the intensity from moments ago.

The cool night air hits my flushed skin as we step outside. Snow falls in lazy flakes, catching in my hair. I fumble with my keys, nearly dropping them twice before managing to lock up.

Silas's hand finds the small of my back as he guides me to his car—a sleek black Audi. The simple touch sends another wave of heat through me. I press my thighs together, trying to regain some composure.

He opens the passenger door, and I slide in, grateful for the moment alone, while he walks to the driver's side. I take deep breaths, attempting to slow my racing pulse.

The leather seat is cool against my bare legs. I adjust my dress, painfully aware of how aroused I am. What is wrong with me? I've never reacted this strongly to anyone before.

Silas slides into the driver's seat, his cologne filling the enclosed space. I grip my clutch tighter, my knuckles turning white.

"Ready?" He turns to me with that devastating smile.

I nod, not trusting my voice. As we pull away from my house, I wonder what I've gotten myself into.

The city lights blur past as we drive through downtown Evergreen Falls. I shift in my seat, still tingling from our encounter in my kitchen. "So, what do you do for work?" I ask, desperate to break the charged silence.

"Finance." His fingers tap against the leather steering wheel. The platinum Rolex on his wrist catches the passing streetlights.

I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn't. The Audi purrs as we weave through traffic, and I notice every detail screams money – from the custom interior to the subtle scent of expensive leather. His suit alone probably costs more than my monthly salary.

"That's... vague." I keep my tone light and playful.

His lips curl into a slight smile. "Numbers bore most people."

The car slides to a stop at a red light. In the glow of the traffic signal, I study his profile—the sharp jaw, the perfectly tailored collar of his shirt, the way his hands rest with casual confidence on the wheel. Everything about him speaks of wealth, but it's understated—old money kind of wealth.

"Try me," I challenge.

He glances at me, those blue eyes dancing with amusement. "Another time, perhaps. Tonight isn't about work."

The light changes, and we accelerate smoothly. I notice we're heading toward the expensive part of town, where the restaurants require months-long reservations and have prices that make my credit card weep. Of course, he'd have connections there.

My curiosity burns stronger. What exactly does this man do in finance? But something in his tone tells me he won't share more tonight, and pushing feels wrong. Like I'd be breaking some unspoken rule between us.