Tempted Attraction

Chapter5: Nothing Happened

He got in beside me, slamming the door shut. The drive back to his penthouse was silent, tension hanging heavy in the air between us.

And I couldn’t help but wonder... how had things spiraled so fast.

_________

My head was pounding, the kind of dull ache that made me wince with every breath. Blinking, I tried to take in my surroundings. It wasn’t my room. This place was larger, more elegant—there were giant windows letting in faint morning light, and the bed beneath me felt too soft, too luxurious to be familiar.

And then I noticed—I wasn’t alone.

Sebastian was lying beside me, his back turned. His skin, marked with scars and tattoos, stretched over the muscles of his shoulders and down to his waist, where only a thin pair of boxers covered him. The ink trailed down his arms, wrapping around his neck like a chain, marking his legs too. He was raw, intense, and so close that it made my heart race.

But then I looked down at myself. I was wearing an oversized black T-shirt—definitely not mine—and boxers. Not mine either.

Wait, what the hell?

Did I sleep with him?

Panic began to rise in my chest as I carefully lifted the sheet. The air hit my legs, making me realize how little I had on. My clothes were nowhere to be found. Had something happened between us?

I tried to sit up, but then I felt his hand on my waist, heavy and possessive, resting there like it belonged. My breath hitched as I froze. If I moved, he’d wake up. But I needed to know what happened.

I took a deep breath. Screw it. I carefully lifted his arm, trying to slide out from under him without making a sound. As I did, I couldn’t help but notice how warm his skin felt against mine, how his fingers had been gently pressing into my waist like they knew exactly where to be.

Once I was free, I stood and looked around. No sign of my clothes. I was in his shirt, his boxers—and yet, nothing felt clear. Everything about last night was a blur.

“Florence?”

His voice was husky, the kind of rough edge that sent a shiver down my spine. I turned to find him watching me, eyes half-lidded with sleep but still piercing, like he saw more than I was ready to reveal.

“What... what happened last night?” I stammered, my heart racing not just from panic, but from the tension thickening the air between us. I couldn’t stop staring at him—at his bare chest, the way the inked patterns stretched over the defined lines of his muscles, the way his boxers hung low on his hips, leaving very little to the imagination.

He got up, the movement slow, deliberate, as if he knew the effect it had on me. “Relax. Nothing happened,” he said, his voice calm but firm, though there was something else there—something darker, more tempting in the way he looked at me. “You... well, you were a mess. I brought you upstairs because you were too drunk, and then you threw up all over yourself. My housekeeper cleaned you up.”

I wanted to believe him, but my mind was still spinning. “Then why—why am I wearing this?” I gestured to his clothes, my voice breaking a little.

He stepped closer, the space between us shrinking. “Because you passed out, and I wasn’t going to leave you like that.” His eyes roamed over me, not with guilt or embarrassment, but with a smoldering intensity that made me feel like the room had suddenly become too warm.

“I didn’t touch you. But if I wanted to, you’d know,” he added, his voice low, almost teasing, sending a shiver down my spine. My throat went dry.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to look away, my face burning. “Can you... please put something on?” I muttered, barely able to meet his gaze.

He chuckled softly, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest, but he turned and grabbed a pair of sweatpants, sliding them on with the same lazy grace he seemed to do everything with. When he came back, he kneeled in front of me, his hands resting lightly on my knees, his eyes never leaving mine. The proximity was overwhelming.

“Don’t scare me like that next time,” he said quietly, but there was a softness to his voice now, a vulnerability I hadn’t seen before. “Your mom called. I picked up. Your grandma’s doing better.”

His hand moved to tilt my chin up, forcing me to meet his eyes, and I felt a strange mix of relief and tension flood through me. His touch was gentle, but the way he looked at me... it was as if he was holding something back. Something I wasn’t sure I was ready for.

“Thanks,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

He nodded, still holding my gaze. “You don’t need to thank me,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over my cheek for a brief moment, sending sparks of warmth through my skin. “Get some more sleep. It’s still early.”

He stood, taking the empty glass from my hand and placing it on the nightstand. The gesture was simple, but the way he moved, the way he lingered just a little too close, it felt like a promise—one that neither of us was ready to make yet, but couldn’t ignore either.

I woke up feeling much better. I was still in his clothes, but this time, my dress was neatly folded on a chair along with a pair of sweatpants. Slowly, I got out of bed, and the soft morning sunlight streaming through the windows made everything feel more peaceful.

I slipped into the sweatpants and thought about heading outside the room, but paused for a moment. There was no sound from the other side, and I figured I should at least freshen up before going out. First impressions still mattered, even if I’d only known these people for less than 24 hours.

Inside the bathroom, I noticed a brand-new toothbrush set out beside the sink. It was thoughtful, maybe too thoughtful. After brushing my teeth and washing up, I felt a little more like myself.

With a deep breath, I gently slid open the door and stepped out into the quiet hallway. And went downstairs only to fund Ingrid and Sebastian jn the kitchen.

"Stella! You're up!" Ingrid greeted me with a bright smile, her voice warm and welcoming.

For a moment, I realized that maybe I wasn’t so alone here after all.