INFERNO 18+

CHAPTER 11

Ivy lingered in Gabriel’s office doorway, her arms loosely crossed, trying to mask the unease coiling inside her. She could feel his gaze on her even though he pretended to focus on the documents before him. That quiet intensity made her skin crawl in the best and worst ways, igniting a mix of fear, frustration, and something darker she didn’t want to name.

“You’re… really something, you know that?” she said softly, testing him. Her voice carried curiosity, daring, and a thread of provocation.

Gabriel didn’t look up. “Is that supposed to mean something?” he replied, the edge in his voice sharper than usual.

Ivy took a small step forward, narrowing her eyes. “It means… I don’t know yet. But you… you’re not like anyone I’ve ever met. And I think you know it too.”

He finally looked up, his sharp gaze meeting hers, cold, calculating, but beneath it, a flicker she could almost sense—a crack in the armor. He leaned back in his chair, long legs crossed, hands resting lightly on the desk. “I’m nothing like anyone you’ve ever met because you’re nothing like anyone I’ve ever wanted,” he said slowly, deliberately. His voice was low, silky, almost hypnotic. “Do not mistake civility for interest, Ivy. You’re… a complication I didn’t ask for.”

Ivy tilted her head, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Complication? That sounds… intriguing.”

Gabriel’s jaw tightened. Every word she spoke seemed to pull him in, a gravity he couldn’t fight. He clenched his hands under the desk, gripping the leather edge, trying to force rational thought over instinct. One taste of her, and he had already crossed a line. And now, every word, every glance, reminded him that he wasn’t in control.

One taste isn’t enough. I can’t—won’t—lose control, he told himself. He forced his gaze back to the paperwork, but his mind wandered—her scent, the brush of her skin, the way her hair had spilled across the sheets, the softness of her lips. Every memory burned like fire behind his eyes.

Ivy noticed the slight tremor in his hands, the almost imperceptible tightening of his jaw. He’s not as calm as he wants me to think, she realized. A small thrill ran through her—danger, excitement, and the intoxicating pull of a man clearly fighting something he couldn’t fully control.

“Gabriel…” Ivy’s voice softened, almost coaxing. “You’re thinking about last night.”

He didn’t answer immediately. His breath hitched slightly, betraying the restraint he was forcing himself to maintain. Finally, he spoke, low and measured. “Thinking… yes. But don’t assume you understand it. One taste doesn’t define anything.”

Ivy raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “Doesn’t define anything… or define you?” she asked, letting her words hang like a challenge in the air.

Gabriel’s pulse jumped at the nearness of her, the teasing tone, the faint smile she wore. He felt the heat rising in his chest, a raw, undeniable need that he tried desperately to smother. He couldn’t let this—couldn’t let her—undo his control. “I don’t have time for distractions,” he said, voice low but sharp. “And you… are dangerous. To me.”

Ivy tilted her head, studying him with a mixture of curiosity and defiance. “Dangerous? Me?” she repeated, almost mockingly. “Or dangerous to yourself?”

The words struck deeper than she intended. Gabriel leaned forward, forearms resting on the desk, his gaze locked on hers. “Both,” he said simply, almost a growl. He inhaled slowly, forcing himself to think. This isn’t about her. This isn’t about desire. It’s about control. I can’t let one night define what comes next. I won’t.

But even as he told himself that, he couldn’t stop the way his pulse sped, couldn’t ignore the raw, primal pull that drew him to her, even when he hated it. One taste had awakened something in him he didn’t want, a dangerous fascination that promised obsession if he didn’t rein it in.

Ivy, watching him closely, felt it too—the tension, the unspoken attraction, the battle he was waging internally. She stepped even closer, brushing lightly against the edge of the desk, and watched as his body tensed at the contact.

“You know,” she said softly, voice teasing, “you could stop pretending. You don’t have to fight it.”

Gabriel’s teeth clenched. Damn her. She makes it sound so easy. She doesn’t understand the consequences. “No,” he said finally, low and absolute. “I will fight it. I can’t… I won’t let it consume me. One taste—just one. That’s all I’ll allow.”

Ivy’s smirk deepened. “One taste…” she murmured, repeating it like a spell. “I wonder… will it be enough for you?”

Gabriel’s eyes darkened. That was it. That single question pushed him to the edge. His pulse hammered in his ears, his hands clenching the desk so tightly the leather creased. One taste wouldn’t be enough, he realized. And he hated that.

He rose abruptly, pacing the length of the office, keeping his distance from her, trying to impose control through motion, through order. “I don’t get to want,” he muttered to himself, more than to her. “Not her. Not ever. I don’t… I can’t. If I allow it, I’ll lose everything I’ve built. She… she isn’t supposed to be mine.”

Ivy watched him pace, her chest tightening at the way he moved, tense and alive, every muscle coiled with restraint. She wanted to reach out, to touch him, to test the limits of that control—but she didn’t. Not yet. Not when she could feel the danger simmering in his presence, a threat and a promise all at once.

Gabriel finally stopped, his hands gripping the back of his chair, jaw tight, eyes dark and stormy. “One taste is all you get,” he repeated, more to himself than to her. “And I need to make sure I… I don’t want more. I can’t let this… fascination, desire—whatever this is—control me.”

Ivy tilted her head, soft smile on her lips, and stepped back slightly, letting him have the space he clearly needed. And yet, even as she did, she felt the pull—the magnetic, dangerous tension—between them. She knew, as much as she tried to fight it, that last night wasn’t a one-time mistake. Neither of them would be able to resist this slow, consuming fire for long.

Gabriel sank back into his chair, finally forcing his hands to relax on the desk. He closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling, trying to regain control. One taste, he reminded himself. Just one taste. And yet, the thought of it—and of her—lingered like smoke curling through his mind, impossible to extinguish.

And Ivy, standing there quietly, understood. This was only the beginning.