The Weight of Silk & Wine

The chill from the restaurant's air conditioning hadn’t reached my bare shoulders, not since he sat across from me. Each sip of this Cabernet sent a warm tremor down my throat, pooling low in my chest where it mingled with something far more potent than alcohol.
He was talking about his day, the details blurring into white noise as I traced the curve of my glass, feeling the condensation cool against my skin. My gaze kept drifting back to him – the way a stray lock of hair fell across his forehead, the subtle flex of his jaw when he spoke…a slow burn ignited within me. A reckless need to reach out and smooth that hair away, to taste the warmth of his skin.
We hadn't touched all evening, not even a brush of hands, but this contained energy throbbed between us. It was in the way my pulse quickened when he met my eyes, the flush creeping up my neck. He thought I didn’t notice his gaze linger on my lips as I drank.
He was wrong. Everything about him registered – the scent of sandalwood and something else…something uniquely *him*, clinging to the air between us, thick and intoxicating. A quiet desperation bloomed within me, a wanting so intense it felt like a physical ache. He’s looking at me now, questioning in his eyes. I offer a small smile back; hoping he'll come closer.

Editor: Pulse