Chapter 1: The Tie That Binds
The restaurant was all soft lighting and whispered conversations, a world away from the chaotic buzz of my art studio. I smoothed down the fabric of my little black dress, a silent prayer on my lips that this blind date wouldn't be another catastrophe.
Just get through one dinner, Elara, I told myself. For Sofia.
I spotted my assigned table, my eyes scanning the room for my mystery man. And then, my world tilted.
Sitting there, impossibly broad shoulders straining against the fabric of a tailored black suit, was him.
Kaelan Thorne.
The man from the hotel. The man with the stormy eyes and the hands that had mapped my body like it was a territory to be conquered. The man who had given me three earth-shattering rounds of passion and then vanished without a trace, leaving only a crumpled hundred-dollar bill on the nightstand and a permanent scar on my pride.
My feet rooted to the polished floor. Every instinct screamed run.
But his eyes, dark and intense, locked with mine across the room. A slow, predatory smile curved his lips. He knew. He had known all along.
Somehow, my legs carried me to the table. The air crackled with a dangerous energy, thick enough to taste.
"Elara," he said, my name a low rumble that vibrated straight through me. It wasn't a question.
"You," I managed, my voice embarrassingly breathy. "This is a sick joke."
"The universe has a peculiar sense of humor," he replied, his gaze drinking me in. "Or perhaps, I do. Sit."
It wasn't a request. I sat, my mind reeling. The waiter came and went, pouring water I had no intention of drinking. Kaelan didn't touch the menu.
"This is a mistake," I stated, finding a sliver of my backbone. "I'm leaving."
"After you just arrived?" He leaned forward, the movement fluid and powerful. "We have unfinished business."
"We have no business. That was a one-night stand. A mistake."
"A mistake you're still thinking about six months later," he countered, his voice dropping. "I can see it in your eyes. The same fire I felt that night."
My cheeks flushed. He wasn't wrong. No man had ever come close to making me feel the way he did—completely consumed, utterly undone.
The date—if it could be called that—was a torturous facade. He asked about my art, my life, his questions sharp and perceptive. I gave clipped answers, my entire body humming with a mixture of fury and a traitorous, unwelcome arousal.
Finally, I threw my napkin on the table. "I'm done. This was... enlightening."
I stood, expecting an argument. Instead, he simply stood as well, a king humoring a subject. "I'll see you home."
"That won't be necessary."
"It is." The finality in his tone left no room for debate.
He guided me out of the restaurant, his hand a firm, warm pressure on the small of my back. Instead of hailing a cab, he led me to a sleek, obsidian car idling silently at the curb. A chauffeur held the door open.
"Get in, Elara."
Trapped by my own stubbornness and a dizzying curiosity, I slid into the luxurious interior. The door closed with a soft, definitive thud, sealing us in a cocoon of leather and his intoxicating cologne.
He didn't instruct the driver. He simply activated the privacy partition, and the world outside vanished.
"This isn't my apartment," I said, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"We're taking a detour."
He turned to me, the dim interior lighting carving out the sharp planes of his face. His presence was overwhelming, sucking the air from the space.
"Did you think I would let you walk away again?" he murmured, his eyes roaming my face, landing on my lips. "I've thought of little else but the taste of you."
Before I could form a retort, his hands went to his neck. With a slow, deliberate pull, he loosened his silk tie and slid it from his collar. The sound of the fabric slipping free was obscenely intimate.
My breath hitched. "What are you doing?"
He didn't answer with words. In one fluid, shockingly graceful movement, he captured my wrists. His strength was absolute, effortless. I gasped as he drew my hands together, the cool silk of his tie wrapping around them in a firm, unbreakable bond. He tied a secure, expert knot, tethering me to him, to this moment.
Panic and a fierce, unwanted thrill shot through me. I was trapped. With him.
He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear, his voice a dark, possessive promise that sent a shiver straight to my core.
"I stopped at three rounds that night because I was afraid you wouldn't be able to handle it."
He pulled back just enough to meet my wide, shocked eyes, a smirk playing on his devastating mouth.
"But here you are on a blind date... looking for more. So let's see how many rounds you can really handle."
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What do you think happens next? Vote and comment! :)
(A) She knees him in the groin and demands to be let out.
(B) She surrenders to the heat and kisses him back.
(C) She uses her bound hands to her advantage, showing him she's not so easy to control.