"You think you can keep running from this?"
Aria's breath caught in her throat at Dante's voice, the deep baritone startling her from her thoughts. She hadn't expected to find him waiting for her by the elevator, arms crossed over his chest, eyes shadowed by frustration and something else—something darker, more primal.
"I'm not running," she replied, her voice quieter than she intended. Her hand hovered over the elevator button, but she didn't press it. The tension between them was too thick, like an invisible string pulling her back toward him, even as her instincts told her to leave.
Dante stepped closer, his gaze locked onto hers. "Then stop pretending this isn't happening."
