Dinner was quiet.
Too quiet.
Erin shifted her gaze to the silver fork in her hand, poking at the food on her plate with the concentration of someone trying very hard to pretend she wasn't sitting across from the man who had just left a red mark on her neck an hour ago.
She refused to look up. Absolutely refused. Not when the moment she did, she might see the same look in his eyes—dark, raw, burning—and lose whatever self-control she was holding onto by a thread.
She could still feel the warmth of his mouth against her skin, the way his breath had ghosted against her jaw, the dangerous tilt of his head just before—
Erin cleared her throat and stabbed a carrot like it had personally offended her.
Focus.
She told herself she was just mad because he didn't explain himself. She had every right to be. But if she was being completely honest with herself—which she hated being—it wasn't just confusion. It wasn't even embarrassment.
It was disappointment.
If her leg hadn't throbbed in pain, if she hadn't flinched right before their lips touched…
Would she have stopped him?
The worst part was—no. She wouldn't have.
And that terrified her.
Across from her, Xander stared blankly at his plate. He hadn't touched his food either, but not because he wasn't hungry. He couldn't eat—not with the storm of emotions brewing inside him. Not when his mind kept replaying the look in her eyes when she'd flinched. Not from fear, not from rejection—just pain. And even that tiny wince had been enough to jolt him back to reality.
He hadn't meant to do it. He hadn't planned it. He hadn't even realized he was moving until his mouth was on her skin and his hands were gripping her like he'd lose his mind if she moved away.
Xander exhaled slowly, his fingers curling into the edge of the table.
What the hell was wrong with him?
He wasn't like this. He wasn't impulsive. He didn't act without thinking. And he especially didn't go around kissing women just because they looked at him a certain way.
Then again, he'd never looked at anyone the way he looked at her.
He glanced at her then—quiet, withdrawn, her shoulders stiff with restraint. She was deliberately avoiding his eyes, which was rare. Erin always met his gaze when she spoke, even when she was furious at him. But now… now it was like she was afraid to look.
Of him.
Or of herself.
He should say something. He should apologize. But how did you apologize for something you didn't even understand yourself?
"Your food's getting cold," he said quietly.
Erin finally looked up.
And for the first time since they sat down, their eyes met.
It wasn't like before—there was no fire, no hunger. Just questions. Fear. Confusion. An unspoken tension coiling between them, dense and heavy like the storm clouds that had broken over their heads earlier that afternoon.
"I'm not really hungry," she replied, her voice low.
He nodded, unsure what to say next.
Seconds stretched, taut and fragile.
Then Erin dropped her gaze again and pushed her food around. "I should probably eat," she added, more to herself than him.
She didn't want him to ask about the kiss. She didn't want to ask either. Because whatever his reason had been, it wouldn't undo the fact that she hadn't resisted. That a part of her had wanted it.
And that part of her was winning.
Still, she couldn't help whispering to herself—
What would've happened… if I hadn't flinched?
And worse—
What if I wanted it to happen again?
Across from her, Xander was thinking something similar.
Only his thoughts were darker. Guiltier. He had crossed a line. One she hadn't told him to cross. And yet, she hadn't pulled away until her injury reminded them both of reality.
He clenched his jaw.
Even if it was a mistake… he wasn't sure he regretted it.
And that, more than anything else, scared him.
Just as Erin reached out to adjust the spoon resting too far on her side of the table, Xander moved his hand at the same time to assist her. Their fingers brushed—just a fleeting touch—but it was enough.
Enough for her pulse to spike. Enough for her to stop breathing for a second.
His hand froze beneath hers, warm and solid. She withdrew almost instantly, the contact searing her more than it should have. Her heart fluttered uncomfortably in her chest, and she could feel his gaze on her, sharp and unblinking.
Her throat went dry. She couldn't bring up what happened earlier—she wasn't even sure she could speak.
"Could you pour me a glass of juice?" she said quickly, her voice tighter than she wanted it to be.
Xander blinked, his expression unreadable for a moment, and then he nodded and reached for the jug beside him. But in his distraction, the glass slipped just as the juice flowed in, sloshing over the rim and splashing across the table.
A startled gasp escaped Erin's lips—but it quickly melted into a laugh. She couldn't help it. Maybe it was the tension, or the silence, or just the ridiculous elegance with which he tried to correct it afterward, dabbing the spill with a napkin like it hadn't even happened.
Her laughter was soft, uncertain at first, but genuine.
He glanced up at her, and for a second, something in his expression shifted—like he wanted to smile, but didn't quite know how.
"I was just trying to…" he started, then paused.
Her eyes met his again. "Trying to…?"
He lowered the napkin, then leaned back slightly in his chair. His lips parted like he was about to speak, but nothing came out. His jaw clenched for a moment before he looked away, his gaze falling to his plate.
"I don't know," he murmured, voice low. "Forget it."
But Erin couldn't. Not the touch. Not the wine. Not the thing they weren't saying.
Not the way he'd looked at her earlier like she was more than just a maid. Like he needed to lose himself in her just to breathe.
And that terrified her more than anything else.