My Dad's Bestfriend (Evelyn and Jacob) novel Chapter 252

Sienna

It took me a while to relax—for my shaky legs to behave, for my heart to stop hammering like a relentless drum. Yet that infuriating smirk on Alex's face never faded, even as he watched me slowly settle. This game? He was savoring it. Of course he was—he'd held the upper hand from the very start.

I wasn't inexperienced. I'd had sex more times than I could count. But nothing—nothing—had ever come close to the way he could unravel me with just his fingers. Silver rings and all.

He was clean. Too pristine, almost unholy in a way. His face screamed sanctity, yet the thoughts he stirred in me were anything but holy. Fuck—I was spiraling again.

"So... do you like it?" he broke the silence, sipping his cappuccino slowly, deliberately. A sick, selfish part of me wanted to taste it—from his lips.

"Like what?"

"This place, Flower." He chuckled at my cluelessness. "Isn't it... kind of peaceful?"

My brows rose. Peaceful? For a man like him? I wanted to scoff, to say something biting, but I couldn't. He was right—it was beautiful in its simplicity. Minimal people, no glittering distractions of the industry, no ostentatious displays of wealth. Just calm. Just quiet.

"It is," I admitted, forcing my lips to remain neutral as I took in the room. The décor—so minimal—gave off eighties vibes. Old, yet somehow magical. Judging by the couple at the counter, it seemed like this place belonged to them, from their time, their creation. Their peace.

"But judging by the kind of man you are, Grayson," I glanced at him, letting a trace of judgement creep into my voice, "how come you're suddenly seeking peace, when all you do is take from others?"

He paused, then unexpectedly he...laughed. Alexander fucking Grayson knew how to laugh?

For a fleeting second, I forgot my own words. That sound—alien to my ears—stirred something I wasn't ready to admit.

He slid my wooden chair closer to his with one swift movement, leaned in, and suddenly the space between us disappeared. My breath caught.

"You really try so hard to hate me, Flower," he murmured, amusement curling the corner of his lips—the same lips that had kissed mine not so long ago.

I parted my mouth to respond, too distracted by the closeness, by the intensity of his gaze, to speak in time. "For... for your information—I'm not trying," I stammered, fighting to hold on to some semblance of strength. But against a man this imposing, this dominating, who had dismantled me like that in his fucking car not long ago? It was impossible. "I... I indeed hate you."

"Oh no, you don't, Amore mio," he said, that infuriating smirk playing on his lips. The Italian accent rolled off his tongue so effortlessly that... forget it. "You're just trying to convince yourself so you're not thinking about me twenty-four-seven. Classic defense mechanism."

"First of all—no, there's no other scenario like you want to believe," I snapped. "And secondly... Io non sono tuo!"

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