Page 15 of Cipher's Baby Girl
The warning sends a chill through me. I've been so focused on my anxiety about the crowd that I hadn't considered the potential danger of being a single woman around intoxicated men with questionable boundaries.
As if sensing my discomfort, Rash quickly adds, "Don't worry, though. Ghost marked you as off-limits. Anyone who touches you answers to him." He grins. "And believe me, no one wants that."
The reassurance helps, but as the night progresses and the party grows rowdier, my nerves fray further. The music gets louder, the dancing more suggestive. I watch as Luna and Saint share their first dance, her head resting against his chest, his large arms wrapped around her possessively.
My eyes scan the crowd almost involuntarily, searching for one particular figure. I finally spot Cipher standing alone near the bar, his posture rigid, expression unreadable. He isincredibly handsome in black jeans with his leather cut over a black t-shirt that stretches to span his broad shoulders.
Even from a distance, his presence exerts a gravitational pull on me. As if sensing my gaze, his head turns, eyes locking with mine across the crowded space. The eye contact sends electricity racing along my skin. For a moment, something flashes in his expression—before his face shutters closed again, cold and remote.
The disconnect between that fleeting look and his otherwise detached demeanor fuels the confusion that's been building since my rescue. What did I imagine in that shipping container? Was the connection I felt merely desperation on my part, my traumatized mind latching onto the first person who showed me kindness?
I watch as he turns away, disappearing into the crowd, and something inside me deflates. The noise suddenly becomes unbearable, the press of bodies suffocating. I remember Rash's suggestion and slip away from the main celebration, making my way toward the garage at the far end of the compound.
Behind the building, I find a small patch of concrete with a couple of plastic chairs overlooking a stretch of dark woods. It’s just like Rash said. The music is muffled here, the air cooler against my heated skin. I sink into one of the chairs, kicking off the sandals I borrowed from Sophie and letting my bare feet rest against the cool concrete.
The relative quiet is a balm to my overwhelmed senses, and I close my eyes.
“Hiding?”
The deep voice startles me so badly I nearly fall out of the chair. My eyes fly open to find Cipher standing a few feet away, his powerful frame outlined against the distant lights of the celebration. My heart slams against my ribcage in excitement.
"I—" My voice fails me. This is the closest he's been to me since he rescued me, the first time he's directly addressed me since then. "Too loud," I finally manage. “And crowded.”
His dark hair is pulled back in its usual tight ponytail, emphasizing the sharp angles of his jaw and cheekbones. His eyes move over me in a slow, deliberate assessment that makes heat bloom across my skin, and I smooth down my dress self-consciously.
After several seconds of awkward silence, I gather my courage. "You've been avoiding me."
As his jaw tightens, the scar on his face pulls slightly at the corner of his mouth. "Yes."
The blunt admission stuns me. I expected denial or deflection, not this raw honesty. “Um… Why?"
He turns to look at me fully then, his eyes boring into mine with an intensity that sends a flood of moisture to my panties, and I instinctively squeeze my thighs together.
He looks away again, his profile harsh in the dim light. "It's better that way."
Frustration bubbles up through my usual caution. "Better for who?"
"For you." The words come out clipped, definitive.
"Shouldn't I be the one to decide that?" The boldness of my question surprises even me. I've never challenged authority so directly before, and I’m further shocked to realize I’m on my feet.
Cipher's head turns sharply, something flashing in his eyes—surprise, perhaps, or reluctant admiration.
Emboldened by his continued engagement, I let more of my frustration leak out. "I just want to understand why you act like I don't exist when you're the one who—" I stop, unable to articulate exactly what he did that night. Saved me? Claimed me? Made me feel safe for the first time in years? “Who actedlike I mattered," I whisper, the admission pulled from some vulnerable place deep within.
His entire body goes rigid at the words, muscles tensing visibly beneath his clothes. For a moment, I think he's going to leave, to just walk away abandoning me. Instead, he shifts slightly toward me, the space between us shrinking.
"You need to forget that," he says, his voice barely audible.
"But I can’t.” I turn to face him fully, heart pounding so hard I'm sure he must hear it. "I remember everything about that night. The way you looked at me. The way you held me.”
His expression shifts, a crack in the cold facade. His hand moves slowly, giving me plenty of time to pull away, before his fingertips brush my cheek with astonishing tenderness.
The roughness of his calloused fingers against my skin sends a shiver through my entire body. Without thinking, I lean slightly into his hand, craving more of this contact.
"You’re not for me,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing the curve of my cheekbone. And then, almost as if he’s arguing with himself, “You’re not mine.”
Before I can respond to tell him that I’ll be his, that all he has to do is say the word, that I’ve been waiting since I arrived to be his, his hand slides to the nape of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair. Time seems to slow as he leans forward, his eyes never leaving mine, giving me every opportunity to retreat. But retreat is the last thing on my mind as his face draws closer to mine.
