Ravish

Chapter 12

1/3/24
Delilah

I love New Orleans during the day, but at night? It's a whole different vibe. The city transforms. The lights glow against the dark sky, casting their reflection onto the water, turning it into a shimmering, distorted mirror of gold and black. The air is cool, a soft breeze carrying the distant hum of jazz from the French Quarter, making everything feel strangely calm. But underneath it all, there's that familiar, eerie tension that the night always seems to bring—a reminder that darkness holds secrets.

I should be lost in the beauty of it all—the night sky, the way the candles on our boat cast long, flickering shadows across the bayou. It's the kind of night that makes you want to just relax and let your worries fade away. But Alessio is sitting across from me, and his presence feels like a weight pressing down on my chest. I keep my gaze firmly fixed on the water. I refuse to look at him. Because if I do, I know our eyes will meet.

Sure, he said he thinks I'm beautiful or whatever, but how am I supposed to concentrate if he's constantly checking me out?!

"The water's really beautiful at night," I say, my voice a little too forced as I keep my eyes trained anywhere but on him. Maybe if I talk about something else, he'll stop staring.

"It is," Alessio replies, his voice low and smooth, sending a shiver down my spine. But he's not looking at the water. I can feel it—his eyes are still on me, dissecting me, making me squirm. He's too calm, too quiet, like he's waiting for something, and it's driving me crazy.

I try to shift the conversation, push us onto safer ground. "Why'd you want to come here?" I ask, doing my best to sound casual, even though every muscle in my body is wound tight. My gaze accidentally flickers to him, and just as I feared, his eyes lock with mine. I look away so fast I nearly get whiplash.

He pauses, taking his time before answering, like he's enjoying how uneasy he's making me. "I don't know," he says finally, his breath steady, calm. "I read about it in a pamphlet."

I blink, caught off guard. A pamphlet?

"The one I saw at the market. It was in a tourist shop," he adds casually, like this was just a spur-of-the-moment decision. But there's something about the way his eyes catch the light that makes me wonder if it's more than that.

I clear my throat, forcing myself to look away. "Well, it's getting late," I say, aiming for nonchalance, hoping he'll take the hint and suggest we go home.

"It's only half past seven," he retorts without missing a beat, raising an eyebrow like he's challenging me.

My breath hitches. "Well, I'm getting cold." I wrap my arms around myself, feigning a shiver, even though the air isn't really that chilly.

And then, without warning, he stands. The boat wobbles beneath us, and a spike of panic shoots through me. My hands grip the edges of the boat for dear life, knuckles turning yellow.

"What are you doing?!" I yelp, my voice a little too high-pitched, my heart thundering in my chest.

But Alessio just looks down at me with that same calm, unreadable expression, as if nothing could ever rattle him. As if he knows exactly what he's doing... and exactly how it's affecting me.

"Relax," he says, his voice smooth and calm as silk. He sinks down beside me, reaching into one of the shopping bags to retrieve a quilt. He drapes the blanket around me, wrapping me in warmth that I don't need but can't deny. Each movement slow, deliberate, and each gesture filled with an unspoken care. His hands linger on my shoulders, adjusting the quilt until every inch of me is covered.

"Thank you," I murmur, trying to keep my voice steady, but when I look up, I freeze. His face is dangerously close to mine, our breaths mingling in the space between us. His eyes lock onto mine with a fierce intensity, and in that heartbeat, everything else seems to vanish. The air between us is charged, thick with something unspoken, something desperate and magnetic. My heart hammers in my chest as his gaze drops to my lips, just for a second, and everything in me screams to close the distance. To erase the space between us, but I'm a coward—no—I'm a slave to my word. He leans in, inch by careful inch, giving me every chance to back away—but I'm paralyzed.