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His features are stoic as he tugs my arms, leading me to his car.
“Just trust me,” he replies, opening the car door for me and helping me in.
I don’t know what to say, so my mouth stays shut as I settle in my seat. We both fall into silence while he drives. I don’t need to ask, I know he’s bringing me back to his place.
After a while, I finally say, “I do, you know.”
He glances quickly at me, then back at the road.
“Do what?” he replies.
“Trust you,” I add, a small smile sweeping across my face. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise as if he didn’t expect me to say that. He doesn’t reply, grinning instead while his fingers drum the steering wheel, his mood shifting into something a little less dour.
Eventually, he drives into the underground parking lot and he leads us into the elevator, the doors dinging open thirty-three floors later. Byzantine takes my hand and tugs me inside, my body lagging behind still slightly discombobulated from what happened.
Standing near the kitchen, he stares at me, his eyes roving over my face. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he questions again.
I take a second to answer, making a quick assessment of my feelings.
“I’m okay now,” I finally reply, squeezing his arm in reassurance.
His expression is of sheer relief when his hand finds my cheek, grazing it softly.
“Go wait for me on the couch, little sun. I need to make a call, I won’t be long,” he says softly.
I acquiesce and plop myself on the L-shaped couch, watching him disappear into the bedroom. The black leather feels cool against my skin as I gaze around the living room. A plush dark gray carpet takes up most of the floor space with a low oval coffee table perched on top. All so very Byzantine.
After a few minutes, he strolls back out and heads to the wet bar.
“Gin?” he asks, and I nod, pouring whiskey for himself. He hands me the tumbler and I reach up to take it but he keeps it in his hand, his eyes worried as he stares at me.
“Are yousureyou’re okay?” he finally says.
I muster up my most reassuring look as I take the glass from his grip.
“I’m fine, Byzantine. Truly.”
He sighs and then sits down opposite of me on the couch, still staring at me as he takes a slow sip of his whiskey. I do the same while I try not to squirm under his reaching gaze.
“Stop looking at me like that,” I say exasperated.
“Like what?”
“Likethat,” I reply, waving a hand at his face. “It feels like you’re staring straight into my soul, it’s quite unnerving if you must know,” I quip.
“Is it?” He takes another sip, his eyes now undressing me with just a look.
“YesByzantine, it is,” I respond, leaning over and placing my glass on a coaster before raising my knees up to my chest as if it will protect me against his stare.
“Maybe I am,” he says seriously. I fight the urge to scoff but before I can even mutter out a,what do you even mean by that?He adds, “Come here.”
I stop short and look back at him, my entire body pitching forward like it has a mind of its own but I keep my ass firmly on the couch cushion and cross my arms instead.
“I’m good here, thanks,” I mutter, glaring at him from across the sectional. But what I find behind his blown wide pupils makes my skin buzz with anticipation.
Chapter 34
Byzantine
