He hadn’t noticed when she moved from her chair. The others were still speaking, laughter punctuating the air, but her absence from her place made the atmosphere shift. He felt her before he saw her—the faintest warmth against the back of his neck, subtle yet unmistakable. Her breath.
It wasn’t an accident. She could have stood anywhere, leaned against the mantel, or stayed seated. But instead, she had chosen the narrow space behind him, so close that the air between them was no longer empty. His shoulders tensed, his hands resting a little too still on the table.
For a heartbeat, she said nothing. Just that slow, even exhale brushing his skin, raising the fine hairs along his neck. It wasn’t touch, not exactly, but it carried the weight of intimacy. The kind of closeness that made him acutely aware of her body behind him—her presence filling the silence in a way words never could.
When she did finally speak, her voice was low. Softer than usual, almost confidential, as though meant only for him though the others were still near. He had to lean slightly back to catch every word, and in doing so, he brushed the edge of her breath once more, inhaling the faint trace of her perfume—something floral, faintly aged, yet sharp enough to cut through the haze of wine and smoke.
Her hand didn’t touch him, not yet, but he could imagine it hovering inches away. The way her fingertips might graze his shoulder if she chose, the way her palm might settle there with the weight of ownership. She didn’t need to. The threat of it—the possibility—was enough.
He forced himself to respond, his own voice low, measured, though his pulse betrayed him. She leaned closer still, her breath once more spilling over the back of his neck, and he realized she was playing with the distance itself—testing how long he could withstand the sensation without breaking, without turning to face her.
By the time she pulled away, the absence struck harder than her presence had. The cool air rushed in to replace the warmth she left behind, and he found himself fighting the urge to follow, to draw her back closer. She returned to her seat as though nothing had happened, joining the conversation again with effortless ease.
But for him, the evening was altered. He could still feel her breath lingering against his skin, as though she had left an invisible mark no one else could see. It was nothing—and yet it was everything. A secret contact that no one else in the room had witnessed, a moment that belonged only to the two of them.
And he knew she had done it deliberately.