I slipped my phone back into my clutch, forcing my breath to steady, fingers tracing the smooth leather absentmindedly.
The message replayed in my mind on a loop: Be careful who you trust.
Simple words, yet they landed like a weight in my chest.
I didn't know who sent it. I didn't know why.
But I knew it was meant for me.
Me — sitting here with this dangerously charming man who still had his hand on my thigh beneath the tablecloth, as if nothing had changed.
His fingertips traced slow circles against my skin, warm, deliberate, and so impossibly intimate.
The pressure of his touch was light but firm, like he knew exactly how to distract me, exactly how to draw my attention away from everything else.
"You went quiet on me," he murmured, his voice low, brushing against my ear.
The vibration of his words against my skin made me shiver, despite the rising tension. "Everything alright?"
I turned toward him, fixing a playful smile on my lips.
If he noticed the slight tightness in my jaw, he didn't show it.
"Do you often get stared at by mysterious men hiding in the shadows?" I asked lightly. "Or receive anonymous texts warning your date?"
For the first time tonight, a flicker of something unreadable crossed his face.
His dark eyes studied me, weighing my words, his hand still teasing my inner thigh with maddening patience.
"You got a text?" His tone was casual — a little too casual.
"Mm-hmm."
I gave a small nod, letting the moment stretch.
"Something cryptic.
The kind of thing you'd hear right before the plot thickens in some cheap thriller."
"What did it say?"
I tilted my head slightly, pretending to think about it.
"'Be careful who you trust.' Dramatic, right? Maybe my life is more exciting than I thought."
He chuckled, but there was a brief pause before he answered. "Sounds like someone trying to scare you."
I smiled again, watching him carefully. "Should I be scared?"
He leaned in, his voice a soft murmur against my skin. "Are you scared?"
I considered lying.
I considered pushing him. But instead, I answered honestly — and perhaps a little dangerously. "No. Not yet."
His lips curved into a slow, wicked smile, his fingers pressing a little more firmly against my thigh, just shy of crossing into more dangerous territory beneath the tablecloth.
"Good," he said.
"I'd hate to think I was making you uncomfortable."
The opposite was true. That was the problem.
The stranger who had been watching us earlier — gone now.
Disappeared into the shifting shadows of the club.
But the question of who he was, and why he was watching us, remained.
My stranger — my dangerously smooth companion — was studying me now. His gaze dropped to my lips briefly before returning to my eyes.
There was something in his expression — amusement, desire, but also calculation.
Like he was measuring my reactions, seeing how far I'd let him pull me into whatever game we were playing.
"You're full of surprises," I said softly.
"So are you," he returned, his voice a deep rumble beneath the music.
I shifted slightly in my seat, subtly parting my legs just enough for his hand to slip higher.
His fingers moved, slow and purposeful, his touch light as air but burning through my skin.
My breath caught, heart pounding, as I clenched my wine glass a little tighter, desperate to keep my composure.
The club's energy pulsed around us — bodies moving on the dance floor, laughter ringing out, lights flickering in time with the beat — but none of it existed to me in that moment.
It was just him.
His hand.
His mouth hovering close to my ear.
"You're very calm for someone getting mysterious warnings," he teased softly, his fingers brushing dangerously close to where my body was already aching for him.
I gave a breathless laugh, leaning in closer, our faces just inches apart. "Maybe I like danger."
His lips hovered a heartbeat away from mine. "Or maybe you just haven't met the right kind of danger yet."
A thrill shot through me — equal parts heat and warning.
My phone buzzed again, snapping the moment in two. Another message. Same blocked number.
You're already in too deep.
The words made my stomach tighten.
I set my glass down carefully, masking the sudden tightness in my throat. He noticed. Of course, he did.
He reached for my hand this time, lacing his fingers through mine on the table.
"You sure you're alright?" His tone was gentle, but his eyes remained sharp — watching, calculating.
I smiled faintly, forcing my heartbeat to slow.
"Yes," I lied. "It's just… very good wine."
His thumb stroked my knuckles, comforting.
Possessive. "Let's not let anything ruin our night."
"Of course," I whispered, though part of me knew something had already shifted.
He leaned in once more, his lips brushing lightly across my cheek, dangerously close to my mouth.
"Come dance with me," he murmured.
"Let's forget about strange men in shadows."
The offer was tempting.
His hand never left my thigh as he stood, guiding me gently toward the dance floor.
The music pulsed louder now, the beat vibrating through my skin.
The club's lights spun and flashed, casting brief, colorful shadows across his face as we moved.
He pulled me close, one arm strong around my waist, his other hand settling dangerously low on my hip.
Our bodies molded together effortlessly, moving in time with the music.
His breath was hot against my ear as he whispered, "Let's see how much you really like danger."
I exhaled a soft breath, closing my eyes for a moment, surrendering to the rhythm, to his touch, to the growing storm beneath the surface.
The question still burned inside me.
Who exactly was this man I was letting pull me closer?
And why, even knowing something was off, did I want him anyway?