Chapter 3 Untitled Chapter
The garden was dark and quiet. Sloane should not have been there. But her legs had carried her outside before her brain could stop them.
She knew why. She just didn't want to admit it.
Earlier that night, after the staring and the champagne and Katie's warning, Sloane had tried to lose herself in the crowd. She danced a little. Smiled at strangers. She let the music and the lights distract her from the blue eyes that kept finding hers across the room.
Then Katie had leaned in. "I need to sort some things out with the organizers. I'll find you in a bit."
Sloane had nodded. "Take your time."
She was alone now. Couples swayed together on the dance floor. Women laughed in tight circles. Men in tuxedos talked business near the bar. Sloane decided to explore. The hotel was huge, all marble and gold, with hallways that led to more hallways.
But she felt it. Eyes on her back. Following her every move.
She knew who they belonged to.
The presence behind her kept getting closer. Her skin prickled. Her pulse hammered. She didn't turn around. She kept walking, exploring, pretending she didn't notice.
Then she felt it. Hot breath against her ear. His voice, low and rough, made her shiver.
"Meet me at the garden."
She turned around, but he was already walking past her. He didn't look back. He just disappeared into the crowd.
Sloane stood there, frozen, trying to process what had just happened. Her heart was racing. She should find Katie. She should forget his voice in her ear.
Instead, her legs moved.
She found the garden.
It was outside, past the ballroom, through a set of glass doors. The night air was cool on her skin, a sharp contrast to the suffocating warmth of the ballroom. It was quiet. Peaceful. Flowers lined the stone paths, their scent heavy and sweet. Small lights twinkled in the trees.
She scanned the area.
He wasn't there.
She turned in a circle, confused. Had she imagined it? Had he changed his mind?
Then she felt him. Behind her. Close.
She turned around.
Elias Voss stood inches from her, staring down at her face like he was trying to memorize it. His blue eyes moved slowly across her features, her eyes, her nose, her lips. He took his time, unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world.
Up close, he was even more devastating. The sharp lines of his jaw. The way his hair fell across his forehead. The faint shadow of stubble on his chin. He was wearing a black suit, perfectly tailored, and the scent of expensive cologne wrapped around her like smoke.
She could see the slight tremble of his bottom lip. He was breathing hard, like he'd run a marathon.
"What do you want, Mr. Voss?" she asked.
Her voice was steady, but her chest was rising and falling fast. She could feel her pulse in her throat.
"Mr. Voss." The way she said it sent a shiver down his spine. He wanted to hear her say his name. He wanted to hear her say Elias. Just once. Just to see how it sounded on her lips.
The thought alone made his pants tight.
He stepped closer. "You."
She raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
Sloane stared at him. Her body was hot. Her legs felt weak. She tried not to think about what she was feeling between her thighs right now.
She failed.
"I don't get you," she said. "First you talk to me like I'm trash. Now you're acting like you want to eat me."
He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving hers. "I do want to eat you."
He said it like he was talking about the weather.
His fingers found her face. Gentle. Slow. He traced her jawline with the back of his hand, feather light, as if she might shatter. Sloane felt hot all over. Her skin burned where he touched her. She couldn't understand this chemistry between them. This pull.
They were too close. She tried to shift back, but his hand grabbed her waist and pulled her closer. Their noses grazed each other. Their lips were almost touching. She could feel his breath on her, warm and uneven.
She stared into his blue eyes. He stared into her brown ones. Neither of them spoke or moved. They just stood there, frozen in the tension between them.
Then she felt his lips on the side of her mouth. Not a kiss. A tease. His hand slid to her lower back. His other hand stayed on her waist, holding her in place. He didn't kiss her. He just stood there, holding her, his thumb tracing slow circles on her hip. She could feel his heartbeat or maybe that was hers. It didn't matter. They were breathing the same air, and she couldn't remember why she was supposed to hate him.
Her eyes began to close. She was bracing for it. Waiting for it. Needing it.
Then noise broke out from the hall. Guests spilled into the garden, laughing and talking. Their moment shattered.
Elias's hands left her body. She felt the absence immediately. Cold. Empty.
He leaned close to her ear, his lips brushing the shell of it. "Seventieth floor. Room two."
Then he disappeared into the crowd.
Sloane stood there, breathless, her body still humming. She felt hot, her skin already missing his touch, her lips missing his almost-kiss. She wanted to follow him. She wanted to see what would happen behind that door.
She had nothing to lose. No money. No future. Just a dying brother and a failing shop and a body that had finally woken up after years of neglect.
She walked toward the elevator.
Her phone rang.
Abigail's voice was panicked. "Sloane, we're rushing Seth to the hospital. He had a headache and wasn't breathing well."
Sloane's heart plummeted. "I'm on my way."
She looked at the elevator doors one last time. Then she turned and ran.
The hospital smelled like bleach and fear. The floors were too bright, the lights too harsh. Every beep from every machine was a countdown. Sloane had spent so much time here that she'd memorized the pattern of the ceiling tiles, sixty-four of them, three with water stains.
She burst through the emergency room doors and found Ryan and Abigail in the waiting room. Abigail had been crying, her face blotchy and red. Ryan was pacing.
"He's in room four," Ryan said, his voice tight. "They hooked him up to an IV."
Sloane walked into Seth's room. He looked so small in the hospital bed. Almost white as a ghost, his slim body covered in bruises that hadn't been there yesterday. His eyes were closed. Tubes ran from his arm to a bag of liquid hanging on a metal pole. Machines beeped quietly around him.
She sat beside him and took his hand.
The doctor came in a few minutes later. He had delivered bad news to Sloane before.
"We were able to stabilize him for now," Dr. Patel said. "But we need to start his treatment soon. If we wait much longer, his health will deteriorate further. I'm sorry to put it so bluntly, but you need to know."
Sloane nodded. Her throat was too tight to speak.
Dr. Patel left.
Seth was the only family she had left. Her parents were gone. Her mother died from the same illness that was killing Seth now. Sloane was alone, just her and her baby brother and a mountain of debt.
Where would she get the money for his treatment? Banks had refused her loans. She was already drowning in debt. Forty-three thousand. One hundred and fifty thousand. It kept adding up.
She put her head down on the bed next to Seth's hand and cried.
Abigail came in and rubbed her back. Ryan stood in the doorway. They didn't say anything. They just stood there and comforted her the only way they knew how.
Hours passed. The doctor said Seth would be asleep for almost sixteen hours. His body needed rest.
Sloane sent Ryan and Abigail home. They didn't want to leave, but she insisted. She sat alone in the hospital room, holding her brother's hand, watching him sleep.
She had been so close to something tonight. Something dangerous and thrilling.
Now she was back in the real world. Hospital bills and a dying brother and a future that looked darker every day.
Every night, before he fell asleep, he'd say the same thing: "Hey, Sloanie? Thanks for staying." She'd squeeze his hand and whisper back: "Always, little bear. Always."
Tonight, he couldn't say it. He was too weak.
She said it for him.
"Always, little bear."
She laid her head near his hand and closed her eyes.
Across the city, on the seventieth floor of a hotel, Elias Voss waited for a woman who never came.
He sat in the darkness, his hands clenched at his sides. He'd never been stood up before. Not once in his entire life. People waited for him. They begged for his time. They showed up early and stayed late and did whatever he asked.
But she hadn't come.
He stood by the window, looking down at the city, and felt something he couldn't name. Rejection? No. Worse. He felt interested. Curious. Hungry for a woman who hadn't even shown up.
Women flocked to him. He changed them like clothes. A month here, a week there. He felt nothing when they left.
So why was this coffee shop owner bothering him so much?
He looked out the window again.
She had caught his attention.
And he had no intention of letting her go.
