Now they stood close enough to erase the air between them.
Close enough that the city noise behind them—the traffic grinding past, bass thudding faintly from a passing car, the hiss of buses kneeling at the curb—felt distant.
Close enough that she could feel the heat of him through the thin space separating their bodies. Not touching.
"Be careful, Larissa," he said.
His voice wasn't sharp. It didn't need to be. It was low, even. The kind of control that comes from a man who rarely raises it.
She tipped her chin up. Sunlight caught the edge of her cheekbone, the gloss on her mouth.
"Why?"
A slow breath moved through him. Measured. Deliberate.
He stood there for a moment, just looking at her.
"Because indifference," he said, leaning just slightly closer, his voice dropping like a secret shared over rooftop drinks at midnight, "is more provoking than jealousy."
Her pulse skipped.
Just once.
