CHAPTER 7
He opened his mouth again to answer her question, but before he could say a word, she tugged at his hand. She pulled hard enough that he instinctively bent down, and suddenly their faces were only inches apart.
He froze.
She reached up and traced a finger along his jaw, moving slowly and deliberately.
This girl is too bold.
"You do realize," he murmured, his voice low. He didn't know why he sounded like he was out of breath. "You're getting too touchy. It's inappropriate."
He glanced down for a brief second—a big mistake. Her off-shoulder dress dropped lower than he expected, revealing smooth skin and a very distracting line of cleavage. That made him instinctively swallow hard as his heart pounded harder than usual. He quickly jerked his eyes back up—first to her collarbone, then her neckline, and finally to her eyes.
Her perfume wafted up with the wind—subtle, not overly sweet, somehow perfect for her. Warm and tempting without effort.
She only smirked. "You're not resisting me either."
He swallowed again. She had a point—an irritatingly accurate one.
He couldn't figure out this woman. A woman like her was beautiful enough to ruin lives if she wanted. Confident enough to play with fire and walk away unscathed. Men were definitely falling all over themselves to get her attention.
And she knew it. She knew too well her effect on men. She knew how to take advantage of her looks.
Dangerous.
Yet he wasn't pushing her away.
Why? Why was he allowing this? With every other woman who got too close, he shut down without hesitation.
But this one…
This one was different. From the first time that she stepped right in front of him earlier, invading his personal space without permission, even bold enough to hold and touch him, he didn't feel any urge to deny her of what she wanted to do or to pull himself away. He did nothing.
He found himself smiling back at her—a controlled, measured smile, like a man not about to lose a game he didn't remember agreeing to play. Let's see how far she would go.
"What's there to resist?" he said calmly. "You're my sister."
Her eyes sparkled with approval, and she seemed pleased with his composure—his refusal to be flustered.
Since he was already leaning close, Alisson rose slightly on her toes and brushed her lips near his cheek, whispering as she made contact.
"A greeting kiss," she murmured. "It's how we say hello abroad."
Then she straightened, stepping back half an inch.
Xavion blinked once.
Then twice.
His hand slipped from hers as if his body acted before his mind caught up. He stepped away, straightening his posture and tightening his expression into something unreadable.
Then—just when she thought she might have pushed too far—he exhaled and smiled. A slow, calculated smile.
"So," he said, "is this how you are with everyone?" He felt a little bitter about it. But he expected nothing anyway. She grew abroad, and he knew that there were really customs like this.
Alisson blinked innocently, her lashes fluttering.
"No," she replied sweetly. "Only with my brother."
And annoyingly enough, it was true. She had never flirted this freely with any man before—except for the monster she once called a boyfriend. But this? This was different. She wasn't desperate. She wasn't broken. She wasn't trying to fit in.
She was simply… curious. Intrigued. Drawn in.
Her smile brightened again.
She stepped closer—just a little—and said with a pout, "I'm cold."
Xavion lifted the jacket between them with a raised brow.
"Hmm," he hummed, keeping a straight face as he offered the jacket stiffly, just like before. Why would he give in even if he knew what she wanted? She may give him hints, but it was up to him to act upon them.
She openly stared at him.
He raised a brow at her. Silently asking, 'what are you waiting for? Take it.' He tried hard not to laugh at her stoic reaction.
Of course, he knew what she wanted.
She wanted him to put it around her shoulders himself.
To be a gentleman.
To be soft.
Alisson wanted to huff at his face. Most men would have pulled her already for her bold moves earlier. But Xavion? Xavion Isidor apparently also knew how to tease.
Not by being flirtatious.
Not by being bold.
But by denying exactly what she wanted from him—just because he could.
She let out a dramatic exhale, her shoulders dropping. She was visibly shivering now, goosebumps rising on her arms, and he stood there like a heartless marble statue carved by an artist who hated warmth.
Rolling her eyes hard enough that it could have been heard, she snatched the jacket from his hand and brushed past him, muttering, "Unbelievable."
Behind her, a low chuckle escaped his chest.
Deep, soft, amused.
When she glanced back, he was already turning to follow her.
She stopped a few steps ahead and finally wrapped the jacket around herself. His scent drifted up immediately—clean, subtle, masculine—and her irritation evaporated in the same second. Fine. Maybe he wasn't a gentleman, but she was the one throwing herself at him like some bold heroine in a foreign film. She couldn't exactly blame him for playing along… on his own terms.
When she flipped her hair back and adjusted the collar, Xavion caught up, falling into step beside her but purposefully keeping a respectable distance. Which she promptly ignored.
Alisson slid closer and looped her arm through his, leaning lightly into him as she looked up with that infuriatingly pretty smile. "Let's go."
Xavion allowed her to tug him forward, expression unreadable at first. Then, as if deciding she was impossible but tolerable, he let out a soft breath of amusement.
"Are you always this clingy," he asked dryly, "or is this some special sister-discount service?"
Alisson beamed. "Only premium clients get this treatment."
He shook his head but didn't pull his arm away.