Arianna’s POV
Killian’s hand burned against the small of my back.
It wasn’t a firm grip—just enough to guide me away from Damian at the bar but my body reacted as if he had branded me. My pulse tripped. My skin prickled where his touch lingered.
Get a grip, Arianna.
I forced a breath, trying to steady the tremor in my chest. But it was impossible to ignore the way his presence filled the space beside me—commanding, deliberate, impossibly calm when mine was anything but that.
As we crossed the marble floor toward our table, I glanced over my shoulder. Damian was still watching.Even across the crowded room, his gaze clung like a shadow—lazy, dangerous, and far too interested.
“Mr McLeod, he is still staring.”
“Don’t pay attention to him,” he said quietly. “Damian thrives on reactions
