Chapter 17 – The Pull
952 Words
Dante
By morning the building felt wrong.
Too quiet, too watchful.
Every monitor in his private office displayed lines of encrypted code, the blue glow painting the room in static light. Ross’s message blinked on the corner screen: Lead located—Dean Carter active account confirmed.
Dante’s fingers tightened on the mouse. Dean wasn’t just back; he was circling.
He straightened his cuffs and walked out as if nothing were wrong. Control was armor—keep it polished, no one sees the cracks. The staff greeted him with the same reverence they always did. Only Selena noticed the shadows behind his eyes.
She was waiting by the elevator, tablet in hand. The sight of her steadied and unsettled him at once. “Mr. Morelli,” she said. “Your ten a.m. presentation is confirmed.”
He nodded. “Walk with me.”
They crossed the hall together, a rhythm of heels and leather soles echoing in sync. He didn’t speak until the corridor turned empty. “Has anyone contacted you outside of work this week?”
She blinked. “No. Should they?”
“Just checking,” he said. Too casual. He hated how his tone betrayed the worry.
The elevator doors opened. He gestured her in first. Her perfume filled the small space—clean, subtle, disarming. He caught his reflection in the mirrored wall: composed, ruthless, lying.
The doors slid shut, sealing them into the confined, mirrored box. The silence was immediate, thick with the memory of the night before. Dante turned, the pretense of professional distance impossible to maintain in such close quarters. He reached out, palm flat against the mirrored wall, trapping her in the space between his body and the cold glass.
His eyes dropped, tracing the curve of her jaw, the slight flush on her neck. He moved in until his breath ghosted across her temple. “You look exhausted,” he murmured, the words laced with a possessiveness he couldn't hide.
“You have a ten a.m. meeting, Mr. Morelli,” she managed, her voice a strained whisper, her gaze fixed rigidly on the polished metal doors.
His thumb moved, hooking under her chin, gently forcing her to look at him. Her eyes were wide, dark, and utterly undone. The sheer vulnerability in them was a punch to his gut, a dangerous reminder of the control he’d lost—and the feeling he craved.
“I know what time the meeting is,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate growl. “But right now, I’m thinking about that desk. And the sound of your breath when I finally—”
She cut him off, a sharp, choked intake of air, and the tablet she held pressed tight against her chest. The silent, desperate plea in her eyes stopped the explicit thought, but not the feeling. He lowered his head, his mouth brushing the corner of hers, a quick, burning press that was more command than kiss. It was a promise of what was waiting when the armor finally came off.
The doors slid open again. “Focus on the meeting,” he said, stepping out. “I’ll handle the rest.”
But his mind was already elsewhere—tracking threats, tracing names, drawing lines that all led back to her.
⸻
Selena
Something in him had changed. She could feel it even through the polished surface he wore. Dante Morelli moved like a storm disguised as calm, and today the disguise was fraying.
He’d barely looked at her during the meeting. His answers were clipped, his attention divided. When she spoke, his eyes flicked to her mouth for a heartbeat too long, then to the boardroom windows as if the skyline could anchor him.
Afterward, she followed him into the corridor. “You’re distracted.”
He didn’t stop walking. “I’m busy.”
“Busy I’ve seen,” she said. “This is different.”
He halted then, turning to face her. The air between them tightened. “There are things happening that you don’t need to worry about.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
His tone was steel, but his eyes—those dark, restless eyes—betrayed something rawer. She wanted to reach for him, to demand the truth, but footsteps echoed behind them and the mask snapped back into place.
He moved closer instead, voice low enough for her alone. “After this afternoon, go straight home. No detours.”
A chill traced her spine. “Is something wrong?”
He didn’t answer. Just looked at her the way he always did before he kissed her—intent, consuming—but this time there was no touch. Only restraint sharp enough to cut.
Optional steamy marker: A brief memory flash here—Selena recalling his hands, the feel of his breath against her skin, to heighten the tension before the scene breaks.
He stepped back. “I’ll call you tonight.”
“Promise?”
His jaw flexed. “You’ll hear from me.”
Then he was gone, swallowed by the tide of employees flooding the corridor, leaving her with the uneasy certainty that whatever haunted him had her name written somewhere inside it.
⸻
Dante
From his office window he watched her leave the building, a pale umbrella moving through the drizzle. He’d meant to protect her by keeping distance. Instead he’d painted a target on both of them.
Ross’s voice crackled through the speaker again. “Found your leak. It’s tied to Carter’s investment firm.”
Dante’s eyes followed Selena until the crowd hid her completely. “Then it’s time we reminded Dean Carter who he’s dealing with.”
- Writer
