Page 56 of Strictly Business

The tension in the air is nearly suffocating, pressing down on me with every breath I take. That day is all I can think about, and I’m doing my best to pretend it never happened. But it did. No matter how hard I try to ignore it, the memory of him is seared into my mind.

My gaze drifts to him as he grabs his mug, the herbal scent filling the room, and takes a sip. “Are you just going to stand there?”

“I’m thinking.”

“Dangerous,” he mutters, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. My brows furrow, hating that he’s acting so normal like that day didn’t happen, like he didn’t leave me naked and alone in his bed.

“You drink tea?” I ask, wanting to move past the awkwardness.

He lifts a shoulder. “At night. Helps me sleep.” He flicks his eyes back to the pot, like he can’t stand to look at me for any longer. “You’re not allergic to anything, are you?”

I shake my head, then take a step closer as he holds up a wooden spoon, offering it to me.

“Here,” he says. “Taste this.”

I lean in, and close my lips around the spoon, his gaze flickering to mine, lingering for a beat longer than usual.

“It’s good,” I say, straightening up as I swipe my thumb over my lip to catch any stray sauce. “Could use a bit more salt, though.”

His brows furrow. “Really?” He grabs the spoon back, tasting it himself. “I think it’s perfect.”

I scoff. “And you’re an expert all of a sudden?”

His eyes narrow, and I feel the intensity of his gaze all the way through me. “You seem to forget, Amara. I know what tastes good.”

The air between us is thick. Too thick. I can’t stop replaying that day in my head—the way his mouth closed around my finger, the way he groaned, low and needy.

“Amara.” His voice is like a drag of smoke, deep and dangerous, and suddenly, I can’t remember my own damn name. His eyes flick down to my lips, my own parting on a gasp, and then—

Everything goes dark.

“What the hell?” I mutter, blinking into the blackness. I can’t see a damn thing as I turn my head toward his windows, but the city lights are also out.

Then I hear the click of his phone lighting up, and Nicholas’s face glows as he checks it before letting out a sigh. “Power’s out,” he says, already on the move. “Looks like the whole city’s down.”

I hear him rummaging around, a drawer opening, the scratch of a match. A tiny flame flickers to life, casting shadows on his face. He lights a candle, then another, and the room fills with warm, flickering light.

“Pasta wasn’t cooked yet, so there’s no food until the power comes back on,” he tells me, lifting his sleeves as he sits at the table.

Great. Because this night wasn’t awkward enough.

I sit down on the stool beside him, folding my hands in my lap. Turning my head, I glance at the side of his face, the candlelight dancing across his features. The muscles in his jaw tense, and he turns his head slowly toward me. Our eyes meet, silence stretching between us, and I suck in a breath, unable to stand it anymore.

“Nicholas.” His eyes harden. “About that night—”

“Amara,” he cuts me off, his voice low, gravelly, and so damn firm it causes a shiver to crawl up my spine.

I know he wants to drop it, avoid the subject altogether. But I’m not doing that anymore. Not after days of silence, of pretending like I haven’t been losing my mind over it.

I shake my head, locking eyes with him. “I can’t keep pretending it didn’t happen.”

His jaw tightens, a muscle in his neck twitching like it might snap. “It never should have happened. It was a mistake, Amara. That’s all.”

A mistake. The word lands like a slap. I should’ve known it was nothing more than an impulse. But hearing it from him—so cold, so dismissive—it feels like a knife in my chest. I feel the lump in my throat, the anger rising.

I force a tight smile, trying to bury the sting. “Right.” My voice breaks a little. “Of course.”

I turn, needing to escape the suffocating tension, but before I can get far, his hand catches my wrist, yanking me back to him.

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