She blinked, a flush creeping into her cheeks at the authority in his tone. With a resigned sigh, she pushed herself off the couch and followed him upstairs, muttering under her breath about bossy men. Nicholas's presence was commanding, and he didn't wait for her approval, making decisions for both of them with a confidence that both irritated and intrigued her.
Nicholas led her to his bedroom, a sleek, masculine space dominated by dark tones and minimalistic decor. The room was immaculate, each piece of furniture placed with purpose. A king-sized bed with crisp white sheets sat against one wall, the dark leather headboard stark against the soft glow of the bedside lamps. A large window offered a view of the rain-drenched cityscape.
He walked into the en suite bathroom and returned a moment later with a hair dryer in hand. "Sit," he instructed, gesturing to a chair near the corner of the room. His tone was calm but authoritative, and Ella couldn't help but feel a flutter of annoyance at the command.
Ella crossed her arms, her reluctance written all over her face. "I can do it myself."
"I'm sure you can," Nicholas said with a smirk, his eyes glinting with amusement. "But you won't. So sit."
There was something in his tone that made it impossible to argue. His words were not a suggestion but a quiet order that left her with little room to protest. With a huff, she plopped down in the chair, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. She glared up at him, daring him to say something more, but the playful smirk on Nicholas's lips only deepened.
Nicholas chuckled softly, the sound rich and warm, as he plugged in the hair dryer. He tested the settings before stepping behind her, his presence suddenly close, far too close. "Good girl," he murmured, the teasing edge in his voice sending an unexpected shiver down her spine.
Ella's cheeks warmed, her usual sharp retort dying on her lips. "Don't push your luck," she muttered, though the words lacked their usual bite, the warmth spreading through her body too much to ignore.
He switched the dryer to a gentle setting, warm air rushing through her damp hair as his fingers combed through the strands. The sensation was oddly soothing, the warm air against her scalp and the gentle tug of his fingers a strange comfort.
"Nicholas, you don't have to—"
"Quiet," he interrupted, his voice firm but still carrying a playful undertone. "You're under my care right now, and I take my responsibilities seriously."
His hands were warm and sure as he began to dry her hair, moving in soft, careful motions. The intimacy of the gesture caught Ella off guard. She froze, her heart skipping a beat. No one had done something like this for her since… well, since her mother had been able to care for her. The memory of her mother's gentle touch, the way she had always made Ella feel safe, flooded her mind, and she quickly pushed it away. She didn't want to feel vulnerable. Not now.
"You don't have to baby me," she muttered, trying to regain some semblance of control over the situation, though her voice lacked its usual sharpness.
"Too late," Nicholas teased, his tone light but his movements tender. "Besides, I don't see you stopping me."
Ella couldn't argue with that—not when the warmth of his hands through the towel was so soothing. She let out a soft sigh, her shoulders relaxing even more, a feeling of ease she hadn't realized she was craving settling over her.
"You're not used to this, are you?" Nicholas asked quietly, his voice softer now, though there was still a playful edge to his words.
"Used to what?" Ella asked, her voice uncertain, unsure if she even wanted to know the answer.
"Someone taking care of you."
Ella hesitated, her fingers tightening, "No," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. She wasn't used to someone looking out for her. Life after her mom's accident had never been about being cared for. It was always about surviving, about fighting for every inch, every bit of space. There was no room for softness, for kindness. Not in her world.
Nicholas didn't say anything for a moment, his hands stilling briefly as if contemplating his next words. When he spoke again, his voice was low, the words deliberate. "You deserve it, you know," he said, his tone softer now. "To have someone look out for you."
Ella couldn't hold back the bitter laugh that escaped her lips. She shook her head, the sound of his words ringing hollow in her ears. "That's not how my life works," she replied, a touch of cynicism creeping into her voice.
"Maybe it should," he said simply, his voice carrying a quiet conviction that caught her off guard.
The sincerity in his voice, the way he spoke as though he truly believed it, left her momentarily speechless. She found herself glancing up at him, only to meet his dark eyes, focused intently on her. For a moment, the air between them felt heavier, charged with something unspoken, something neither of them was willing to name just yet.
Nicholas broke the silence, his tone light again as he remarked casually, "You've got nice hair."
Ella blinked, startled by the unexpected compliment. "Thanks," she said quietly, unsure how to respond. She wasn't used to compliments, especially not ones that felt genuine.
"You should take better care of it," he added, a hint of reproach in his voice, as if he was scolding her for neglecting something that deserved attention.
"Is this your way of saying I'm a mess?" she asked, glancing at him over her shoulder, her voice laced with sarcasm.
Nicholas grinned, unfazed by her tone. "Maybe. But you're a cute mess."
Ella rolled her eyes, though she couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her lips. "You're impossible."
"And you're stubborn," he shot back, his grin widening. "But we're working on that."
Ella shook her head, focusing on the rhythmic hum of the dryer and the soothing warmth against her scalp. Nicholas's hands were gentle yet confident, and she was struck by how unexpectedly tender this moment felt. It was a far cry from the sharp, impatient interactions she was used to, and a part of her didn't know what to do with it.
"There," he said after a few minutes, switching off the dryer. He stepped back, his eyes sweeping over her hair with an approving nod. "Much better."
Ella ran her fingers through her now-dry hair, unable to deny the improvement. "Thanks," she said softly, glancing up at him. Her voice was quieter now, the earlier frustration replaced by something more uncertain.
Nicholas leaned against the edge of the desk, crossing his arms as he studied her. "See? Was that so hard?"
She shot him a look. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"
"A little," he admitted, his smirk returning, though there was a hint of something more sincere beneath it.
Ella stood, brushing past him toward the door. "Well, don't get used to it," she said over her shoulder, her voice light but carrying a note of warning.
Nicholas chuckled, following her out of the room. "Too late."