Page 17 of Second Chance with the Half-Elf
She glances back, smile brittle. “I used to hate a lot of things.”
I watch her ascend a few steps, hips swaying with unconscious grace.
Damn woman.
I follow, boots echoing in the narrow space. Halfway up, she pauses, breathless.
“Stairs suck more than I remember,” she mutters.
“Getting old?” I tease.
Her glare is pure fire. “Careful, Harbor Master.”
I smile—real and sharp. “Noted.”
We climb in silence for a stretch, the tension between us a living thing.
Near the top, the wind howls through a cracked pane, rattling loose glass.
Evie presses a palm to the rail, knuckles white.
“You okay?” I ask, voice low.
She exhales slowly. “Fine. Just... tight space.”
“You want out, say the word.”
Her gaze flicks to mine, guarded. “Since when do you worry about that?”
I take a step closer—close enough to feel her heat, the faint tremor in her breath.
“Since you walked back into town like a storm.”
For a heartbeat, neither of us moves.
Then her hand lifts—half-reaching, fingers brushing the seam of my jacket.
My pulse kicks hard. Her eyes darken—gold and green, fierce and vulnerable.
I lean in, slow, giving her every chance to pull away.
She doesn’t.
Our mouths hover—barely a breath apart.
A shiver rakes through me. Years of restraint, of buried want, strain like a taut rope ready to snap.
Suddenly, CRACK.
A thunderclap shatters the moment, rattling the tower.
Evie jerks back, breath sharp.
I curse under my breath.
“Storm’s moving faster,” I say, voice rough. “We should go.”
She nods—too fast. “Yeah. Good idea.”
