THE FORBIDDEN OBSESSION (My Brother Best friend )

The fragile line

The rain was relentless, mirroring the storm inside my chest as I stepped out of the taxi. Leo was away on a business trip, and the penthouse felt cold and cavernous without him. I was still reeling from the night at the warehouse, my arm still feeling the ghost of Dante’s iron grip.

I was halfway across the marble foyer when my heel caught on the edge of a rug. I reached out for the railing, but my hand slipped.

A sharp, sickening c***k echoed through the quiet hall as my ankle twisted. I hit the floor, a white-hot flash of pain blinding me.

"Elena?"

A shadow fell over me. I looked up through tear-filled eyes to see Dante. He must have been waiting for Leo to call, or perhaps he was just... there. He moved faster than I could track, dropping to his knees beside me.

"I fell," I whispered, clutching my leg.

"Don't move," he commanded, his voice tight. He gently reached out, his large hands hovering over my ankle. I could feel the heat radiating from his palms. "It’s already swelling."

He lifted me as if I weighed nothing, his chest a solid wall against my shoulder. He carried me to the velvet sofa, laying me down with a tenderness that contradicted the cold mask he wore in public.

Dante disappeared for a moment and returned with a bowl of ice and a towel. He knelt between my legs, his broad shoulders blocking out the rest of the room. As he began to wrap my ankle, his fingers brushed against my bare skin.

The contact felt like an electric shock. I let out a soft moan, not from the pain, but from the sensation of his touch.

Dante froze. His head was bowed, but I saw his jaw clench so hard a muscle pulsed in his cheek. His gaze traveled slowly up my leg, pausing at the hem of my skirt. In the dim light, his eyes were no longer icy; they were dark, drowning in a hunger he could no longer hide.

I saw his hand tremble. He reached out, his fingers inches away from the soft skin of my inner thigh. I held my breath, my heart hammering against my ribs. I wanted him to touch me. I wanted him to bridge the gap he had spent years building.

His knuckles brushed the very edge of my skin, and I felt the air leave my lungs. Beneath his trousers, I could see the staggering length of his arousal, a heavy, pulsing evidence of the war he was losing.

But then, he pulled back.

He stood up abruptly, turning his back to me. His breathing was ragged, sounding like a wounded animal.

"I’ll call the doctor," he rasped, his voice sounding strangled.

"Dante, wait—"

"No, Elena," he snapped, his voice sharp with a self-loathing that made me flinch. "You’re Leo’s sister. You’re hurt. I’m not... I’m not doing this."

He walked toward the window, staring out at the rain. He didn't look back, but I saw his hand grip the back of a chair until the wood creaked. He wanted me so badly it was physically painful, but his loyalty to my brother was the only thing keeping the "Beast" at bay.

I lay there in the silence, my ankle throbbing and my heart aching. He had almost touched me. And for Dante Vane, "almost" was a dangerous place to be.