Cynthia
I sat on the edge of the sofa, fingers tapping against my knee, muttering under my breath, "I swear, if he thinks I'm just going to sit here like a good little guest… ha! Not happening."
The room smelled faintly of leather and a hint of cologne. Shadows from the streetlight outside stretched across the polished floorboards, shifting softly. I had nowhere to go, yet my mind raced with escape plans—probably more dangerous than clever.
"You know," I whispered to myself, "I'm your worst nightmare, Mr. Stranger. Or Mafia King. Or whatever you call yourself."
A quiet noise from the far room caught my attention. An electrician was working, wires sprawled across the floor, concentrating on the flickering lights above. My chest eased slightly. Someone else here. Reality wasn't quite so sharp, but it grounded me.
I tiptoed toward the rope I'd stashed nearby, my pulse hammering like a frantic drum. The night air whispered in through the slightly ajar window, teasing my skin, daring me to try. "Okay," I muttered, "this is it. My glorious, hilarious freedom."
My hands gripped the rope, shaking—not just from adrenaline, but from the sheer absurdity of what I was about to attempt. I could see the street below, dark and quiet, and for a fleeting second, I felt alive.
Then I saw him. Raymond, moving below, calm and silent, but I could feel him—his presence settling the air, grounding me, and simultaneously making my pulse skip. My plan wavered. My hands weakened, and the rope felt like silk slipping through my fingers.
"Seriously," I muttered under my breath, "don't do this. Not now."
The rope slipped. My stomach dropped. Instinct kicked in. I didn't even think; I just fell—and his arms were there, catching me. Solid, warm, steady. My breath hitched.
"What the—?!" I gasped, twisting, realizing I was suspended, safe against him. His dark eyes held mine, calm, amused, teasing.
"Put me down!" I tried to squirm, though the tremor in my voice betrayed the mix of fear and thrill.
"I don't think so," he murmured, a small smile tugging at his lips. Protective, firm, but not smothering. Just… enough.
"Not until you admit you're not running anywhere tonight."
"I am running! Clearly you just… caught me mid-flight. Isn't that proof enough?" I protested.
He chuckled low and smooth. "You didn't fall. That's proof you're… reckless."
"Oh! Ha-ha," I said, voice squeaky with nerves. "Thanks for noticing my impeccable planning skills!"
"Impeccable, sure. Risk of death: also impeccable," he said, tilting his head, amusement flickering in his gaze.
I narrowed my eyes. "You're enjoying this way too much."
"Maybe I am," he admitted, calm, teasing, magnetic. "Maybe I like seeing you alive and kicking, right here."
I laughed nervously, squirming slightly. "Kicking, yes. Alive… barely, thanks to you."
"You're funny," he said. "And very dramatic. I like it."
"Oh, well, I try," I quipped, cheeks heating. "It's exhausting being this clever all the time, but someone's gotta do it."
He didn't answer immediately, just held me, letting the night swirl around us—the distant horn, a dog barking, soft footsteps of a motorist rushing home. For a heartbeat, I didn't want to move. Not yet.
I remembered the alley, that masked man, the way the world had paused when he appeared. My stomach twisted and untwisted like a slinky. I could feel the pull again. That strange combination of fear, safety, and something else entirely.
"Why does he make me feel like I should be afraid and oddly safe?" I whispered, barely audible, though he didn't respond.
He lowered me back onto the balcony floor, his hands brushing against my arms. A lingering touch. Shivers ran down my spine.
"Seriously," I puffed, trying to act brave, "next time… I'm picking a less heroic exit strategy."
He smirked. "Next time, maybe I'll let you jump and see how fearless you really are."
"I'm not sure surviving counts as bravery," I muttered, rolling my eyes.
"Maybe," he said softly, leaning just slightly closer. "But only for the right reasons."
I blinked, words failing me. My pulse hammered as he glanced briefly out the window, scanning the street, then back to me. Calm. Teasing. Magnetic.
"You're staying put tonight," he said, firm but with a hint of humor. "No more solo flights."
I sighed, a smile breaking through my frustration. "Fine. But don't get used to this."
He chuckled, low and indulgent. "Oh, I won't. But I might enjoy it."
The city outside was quiet, indifferent, yet I felt electrified in ways I hadn't expected. Thoughts of the alley, the masked figure, the apologies of men who'd fled into darkness—all mingled with this moment: arms around me, teasing eyes, dangerous calm.
I didn't know his name. Didn't need to. And yet… the pull was undeniable, a spark I couldn't ignore.
Not tonight. Not with him.
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