The moment our eyes met, something inside me went still, as if my instincts had been caught and held in place. His gaze carried a pull that was difficult to resist, steady and deep, layered with a quiet dominance that didn't need to be asserted to be felt. For a brief second, I couldn't move or think clearly, my senses drawn into his in a way that made it harder to separate reason from instinct.
I forced myself to react, struggling to regain control over my own body. I didn't want to lose myself in that space between us, not when every instinct I had urged me to stay grounded. But his hand lifted, and his fingers brushed my face with a familiarity that felt too intimate, too deliberate for the moment.
"Miss Tillman," he said softly, his voice low and steady, carrying a calm intent beneath it. "It's such a good night. It would be a waste not to make it meaningful."
