Chapter 18

Gabrielle's POV

The evening had been perfect—maybe too perfect, if I’m being honest. After our little argument earlier, Matthew and I had managed to find that sweet spot of intimacy that had been missing for a while. We laughed, we teased, and for the first time in a while, there was no stress or tension between us.

But as the night wore on, something shifted. The mood between us changed, and I couldn't quite pinpoint when it happened. There was a quiet anticipation in the air, an unspoken pull that seemed to grow stronger with every moment.

We sat across from each other, not saying much anymore. The soft clinking of glasses, the rustle of the napkins, the sound of distant chatter all faded into the background as the only thing I could focus on was Matthew. His eyes—those damn eyes—hadn’t left me for a second, and my heart started to beat just a little faster each time our gazes met.

I knew I wasn’t imagining it. There was something electric in the air.

"I think this might be the first time we’ve had a date where I didn’t feel like I was going to mess everything up," I said, trying to lighten the mood.

Matthew chuckled, but it was low and husky, the kind of sound that made my pulse quicken. "I don’t think you’ve messed up anything, Gabrielle. If anything, I’m the one who’s been a disaster."

His words made me smile, but something else stirred within me. Maybe it was the dim light, or maybe it was the way he was looking at me as if I were the only thing in the world that mattered. Whatever it was, it made my breath catch in my throat.

I leaned forward slightly, unable to tear my eyes away from his. I saw the same curiosity mirrored in his gaze, and I could feel the heat rising between us. Was this…?

Before I could process what was happening, the distance between us seemed to shrink, the world falling away until there was nothing left but him and me.

And then it happened.

Our lips met, softly at first. I wasn't sure who initiated it, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the feeling of his mouth against mine, gentle but insistent, a silent plea to close the distance between us even more.

It felt like time had stopped. I forgot where I was, who I was, what I was supposed to be doing. Everything outside of that kiss disappeared, leaving only the warm pressure of his lips and the way my body responded to his touch.

It wasn’t passionate or rushed. No, this was slow—almost painfully slow—as if neither of us wanted to pull away, as if we were savoring the moment, trying to figure out how this felt, and whether we should be doing it at all.

When we finally pulled back, I barely registered the soft gasp that escaped my lips. My hand was still on the table, trembling just a little. My heart was pounding in my chest, and I couldn't tell if the blush spreading across my cheeks was from embarrassment or something else.

Matthew’s expression was unreadable, his dark eyes wide, his lips slightly parted as if he, too, were trying to process what had just happened.

There was a brief silence, heavy and charged. Neither of us knew what to say, what to do. The kiss had been unintentional—or maybe it hadn’t been.

I swallowed hard, not sure if I was supposed to apologize, laugh, or just sit there and pretend nothing had happened. But before I could open my mouth, he spoke.

"Gabrielle..."

His voice was low, husky, and for a split second, I thought he might apologize or backtrack, but instead, his gaze shifted to my lips, his fangs barely visible as he took a deep breath. I could see the internal struggle in his eyes, and it made the tension between us rise to a fever pitch.

"That… shouldn’t have happened," he said, his voice sounding almost strained, like he was fighting an internal battle.

I blinked, my heart still racing. "It shouldn’t?"

"No," he replied, his voice tight. "Not because I don’t want it to, but because I’m not sure if either of us is ready for… whatever this is."

I tilted my head, my hand unconsciously brushing the back of my neck. The sensation of his lips lingering there, the ghost of his touch, still sent ripples of warmth through me.

"I don’t know if we’ll ever be ready," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "But I don’t think we should regret it."

Matthew’s eyes flickered, and for a moment, I could see the conflict warring within him. Then, as if a decision had been made, he reached across the table and took my hand, squeezing it gently.

"We should take it slow," he said, his voice firm but still tender. "I’ve spent centuries running from emotions, Gabrielle. But with you…" His gaze softened, and I felt my chest tighten with something I couldn’t quite place. "I don’t know what I’m doing."

I smiled, my fingers curling around his. "You don’t have to know. We’ll figure it out together."

But the tension lingered in the air, thick and undeniable. Neither of us moved. Neither of us spoke. And in that silence, I could feel it again—the pull between us, stronger than before, like magnets that couldn’t stay apart.

Before either of us could say anything else, a voice broke through the tension.

"Is everything okay, sir?"

We both turned to look at the waiter who had approached the table, looking at us with a slight smile.

Matthew let out a soft chuckle, as if the interruption had been the least expected thing. "Everything’s fine," he said, trying to mask the underlying tension in his voice. "We’re just… discussing something."

The waiter nodded, clearly not believing him, but he turned and walked away, leaving us in the silence again.

"So, about that slow pace…" I said, trying to lighten the mood, my fingers still entwined with his. "Maybe we should start with no more kisses for the night?"

Matthew’s lips curled into a half-smile. "Deal."

But even as the words left his mouth, I could feel that same, unspoken pull between us. And I had a feeling it wasn’t going away anytime soon.

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