Sleep did not come. After Landon left, she was still haunted by his presence for so long. Her house felt crowded even if she was the only person in it.
Celeste tossed under the blanket, and the sheets tangled around her legs. Her apartment was too quiet, but her head was too loud.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Landon's face, and his words echoing like poison down her spine.
"He's not your type... not his type... one room apartment..."
She turned on her side. Then her back. Then buried her face in the pillow and screamed. The slap still tingled in her palm.
God, she had actually hit him. She never imagined doing that. Right now, she wondered if his family would lock her up from that.
She curled her fingers into a fist again, remembering the look on his face. Shock. Hurt. Maybe even regret. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking, like always.
The digital clock blinked 12:47 AM. She stared at the ceiling.
And then—his face appeared behind her eyelids.
Dominic.
The way he looked at her at the bookstore earlier today... It wasn't accidental. He tried to hide it behind that cold, unreadable expression of his, but she felt it. That shift in the air. That awareness.
Celeste sat up, and her heartbeat quickened. Dominic's house was close. Too close to her bookstore. She had passed it before, on the opposite side of the boulevard—the one with the modern glass doors and the ivy-covered walls. It didn't feel like a coincidence anymore.
She never brought him up with Landon after their one time talk where he asked her to stay away from his uncle.
Celeste stood from the bed. She slipped into jeans and a coat, pulling it tight. She put no makeup on. Landon always asked her to wear makeup but she didn't. It was already late.
Her body moved before her brain could take her out of it, and she found herself in the street.
Twenty minutes later, she paused in front of the black gates. Her breath fogged in the night air. She could turn back. She should turn back.
Her hand moved toward the intercom. She hesitated, and then, she pressed the button.
There was a beat of silence. She rubbed her palms together, preparing herself to leave. Sanding before his gate, she realized how stupid she was coming to him.
"Yes?" His voice crackled through the speaker just when she was about to leave. He sounded deep, tired, and on edge.
Her breath caught. "It's me," she said, voice hoarse. Her heartbeat fastened.
The gates clicked after a short pause. Seems he was also wondering at the other end. Slowly, they began to open.
Celeste's feet carried her forward. She reached the front door just as it opened.
Dominic stood there, barefoot in dark slacks and a plain black T-shirt. A single glass of wine was in his hand. His hair was slightly tousled, and his eyes, sharp and unreadable landed on her like a punch to the chest.
Neither of them spoke at first.
Celeste folded her arms, more to steady herself than anything else. "I couldn't sleep."
His gaze moved from her face to the coat wrapped around her and back to her eyes. "I figured."
She took a small breath. "I didn't know where else to go." She half lied. She had two friends two streets away.
He stepped aside without a word, holding the door open. She brushed past him, catching his warm and cedarwood scent.
The door closed behind her. Celeste turned to face him in the hallway. Her whole body felt hot and she sensed they might betray her soon.
"Do you always let strange women into your house at midnight?" she asked, trying to ease the tension with something light, something easier than the pounding of her heart.
Dominic took a long sip of wine, never breaking eye contact. "Only the ones I shouldn't be thinking about."
Her throat went dry. "I just—" She hesitated. "I don't know what this is. Or what I'm doing here. But I can't stop thinking about you. And after what happened tonight—"
He set the wine glass down on the console table, and walked toward her slowly. Every step made her breath shorten.
"You shouldn't be here, Celeste," he said. "Not because I don't want you to be."
Her heart thudded. So loud that she was sure he could hear it. He stopped just inches from her, and challenged her with his eyes to leave.
"But if you think I'm going to play the good guy," he murmured, "the one who tells you to go home and forget about me... you're wrong."
She looked up at him. "Then what happens now?"
Dominic stared at her. His gaze was dark and dangerous, as they flickered down to her lips before locking back onto her eyes.
"That depends," he said. "Do you want the truth?"
Celeste nodded slowly.
"Then you should know," he whispered, "that if you stay here tonight, I won't be able to pretend anymore."
He towered over her, and pressed his thumb on her lips. "I'll bend you over right now, and take you fully. I'm not a good guy, and I never will be. But I think you deserve the warning,"
Her breath hitched.
Dominic's fingers grazed her wrist—gentle, tentative—as though giving her one last chance to walk away.
She didn't. She swallowed hard, her lips parted as her breath swallowed. Dominic was still watching her, his eyes twin shadows flickering with something primal.
"Say something," he rasped.
Celeste's voice came out thinner than she meant. "What happens if I stay?" she mentally slapped herself for letting those words out.
His thumb traced her lower lip again, slower this time. Possessive.
"I stop pretending I don't think about you," he murmured, "when I'm alone at night." His voice dipped, smoky and lethal. "And you stop pretending you don't want someone like me."
Her chest rose with a slow breath. "You're Landon's uncle."
He smiled faintly. His smile was bitter and amused. "And you're half my age."
She flinched at that. The age gap hung between them like a loaded weapon.
"You think I don't remind myself every day?" he said, stepping closer. "You think I don't hate myself for looking at you like this?"