My SoulMate My SweetHeart Pt 4

The seconds stretch into minutes, the rhythmic beat of the music outside muffled by the thick velvet curtain enclosing the booth. I keep moving, my body swaying and twisting against him. I try to keep my focus on the dance and not on the storm brewing behind Nathan’s gray eyes.

He hasn’t looked away from me once.

Most men would’ve had their hands on me by now, or at least pretended not to be affected. Nathan, though, doesn’t make a move. His hands remain firmly planted on either side of his body, his expression unreadable. But the way his jaw tightens, the way his breathing shifts slightly when I press closer, tells me enough.

He’s not unaffected.

I lean in, my knees pressing tighter against the leather couch as I place my hands on his shoulders. His body tenses beneath my touch, even though he still looks calm... too calm.

“Is this what you wanted?” I ask softly, forcing a teasing edge to my voice.

His lips twitch, almost into a smirk. “I didn’t request you, Emma.”

The sound of my real name on his lips sends a shiver down my spine. I lean back slightly, keeping my movements fluid as I try to process what he just said.

“If you didn’t request me,” I say, my voice low but steady, “why are you here?”

Nathan tilts his head slightly, his eyes narrowing in that sharp, calculating way that reminds me exactly who he is, a man who’s used to being in control. “I was here for a meeting. Business.”

I arch an eyebrow, my fingers trailing lightly down his chest as I continue to move. “Must be some kind of business if it brought you here.”

The corner of his mouth lifts in a faint smirk. “Let’s just say my clients have … specific tastes.”

I laugh softly, though it’s more out of instinct than humor. “And yet, you’re sitting here now.”

For the first time, his composure cracks, just the faintest flicker of something in his eyes.

The flicker in Nathan’s eyes is gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by that same unreadable mask he always wears. His smirk softens, but it doesn’t fade entirely.

“I’m sitting here,” he says, his voice low and deliberate, “because the meeting ended. My client left me with this seat, a drink, and a suggestion to ‘enjoy the atmosphere.’”

I scoff softly, my hands sliding down his shoulders as I arch my back, keeping the rhythm of my movements steady. “And you decided to take his advice?”

He leans back slightly, his eyes still locked on mine, his smirk deepening. “Not quite. Sylvia sent you over before I could leave.”

There’s something in his tone that makes my stomach tighten, a challenge, maybe, or an accusation.

“So you stayed,” I say, tilting my head as I roll my hips slowly, the leather beneath my knees creaking softly.

“I stayed,” he admits, his voice steady, “because I wanted to know why you’re here.”

His words cut through me like a blade. My smile falters for just a moment, but I recover quickly, brushing it off like it’s nothing.

“You know why I’m here,” I say, my voice light, teasing. “I work here.”

Nathan shakes his head slightly, his expression sharpening. “That’s not what I asked.”

I swallow hard, my movements slowing just enough for him to notice. “Nathan…”

“Why this?” he presses, leaning forward now, his face inches from mine. His voice is quieter, softer, but there’s no mistaking the edge beneath it. “Why this place, Emma?”

My stomach twists, and for a moment, I can’t speak.

I want to tell him to stop, to let it go, but the intensity in his gaze pins me in place. He’s not going to let this go.

So I do what I always do, I deflect.

“If Sylvia catches me sat here doing nothing, I’ll lose my job,” I say, forcing a smirk as I start to move again. My hands slide up his chest, my hips swaying as I lean in closer. “And I can’t afford that.”

Nathan’s jaw tightens, his eyes darkening. “You’re avoiding the question.”

“And you’re asking too many of them,” I fire back, my voice sharper than I intended.

The corner of his mouth twitches, but it’s not quite a smirk this time. It’s something colder, something harder.

“Fine,” he says, leaning back again, his hands gripping the edge of the couch. “Continue to dance, then.”

I hesitate for just a moment before forcing myself to keep moving. The tension between us is almost unbearable now, the air in the booth thick and heavy.

I let my hands trail down his shoulders, my fingers brushing against his arms as I lean in close, my lips just a breath away from his ear. “Why do you care?” I whisper, my voice low and sharp.

Nathan doesn’t flinch. If anything, he leans into the question, his gaze steady and unrelenting. “Because you don’t seem like the type,” he says softly, his voice calm but firm.

I pull back slightly, my body still moving to the beat but my focus entirely on him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You seem ...” He pauses, like he’s choosing his words carefully, his gray eyes scanning my face. “Out of place.”

I force a laugh, low and sharp. “Out of place? What, because I’m not falling all over you like most of the girls here?”

His lips twitch into the faintest smirk, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “No.” He leans forward slightly, his hands grasping my hips. “Because you carry yourself like someone who doesn’t want to be here.”

The words hit harder than I expect, but I keep my composure, my hips rolling slowly as I slide my hands over his chest. “You’re overthinking it,” I say, my voice light, dismissive. “This is just a job. Some of us have bills to pay.”

Nathan’s jaw tightens slightly, and I can see the wheels turning in his head, his expression shifting into something more serious.

“And this is how you do it?” he asks, his tone quieter now, almost disbelieving.

I move closer, pushing myself closer to him, my knees pressing into the leather even more. My hands trail up to his shoulders as I lean in, staring him right in the eye. “You think I’m the first woman to take a job like this because she needs the money?”

He doesn’t look away, his stormy gray eyes steady and unreadable. “No,” he says softly, “but I can’t help wondering why you do.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, trying not to let the question get to me. “Because life doesn’t always give you options,” I say, my voice sharper than I intended. “Sometimes, you take what you can get.”

Nathan leans back slightly, his hands still planted firmly on the couch. “And this is the best option?”

“Why do you care?” I snap, my movements slowing as I glare at him.

His expression softens, and for a moment, I see something in his eyes that I can’t quite place, curiosity, maybe, or something deeper. “I don’t know,” he admits quietly, his voice low. “But I do.”

I hesitate, caught off guard by the honesty in his tone.

“Emma,” he says softly, and the sound of my real name on his lips sends a shiver down my spine. “How long have you been doing this?”

I force a bitter laugh, shaking my head as I lean back slightly to put more distance between us. “Does it matter?”

“It does to me,” he says firmly, his gray eyes locked on mine.

I pause, my movements faltering for just a moment before I force myself to keep going. “Look,” I say, my voice quieter now, “you’re not here to save me, Nathan. You’re just here to pass the time until your client gets back, or you have to go home.”

Nathan’s brow furrows slightly, his smirk fading. “Is that what you think?”

“What else would it be?” I ask, arching an eyebrow.

He doesn’t answer right away, his gaze flicking over me like he’s trying to figure me out. Finally, he leans back, his smirk returning, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Fair enough.”

I exhale softly, relieved that he’s letting it go. But just as I’m about to pull away, the curtain shifts slightly, and Sylvia’s voice cuts through the tension.

“Lila,” she says sharply, her tone clipped. “Time’s up. There’s another customer waiting.”

I glance back at Nathan, my heart pounding. He’s still watching me, his expression unreadable.

“Go,” he says softly, his smirk deepening into something closer to amusement. “Don’t let your boss catch you slacking.”

I climb off his lap, putting on the robe as I turn toward the curtain. But just as I’m about to leave, he speaks again.

“Emma,” he says, his voice stopping me in my tracks.

I glance back at him, my heart racing. “Yeah?”

“This isn’t over,” he says, his tone quiet but certain.

I don’t know what to say, so I don’t respond. Instead, I slip through the curtain and back into the dimly lit hallway, my heels clicking softly against the floor as I make my way toward the dressing room.

But his words linger in my mind, echoing with every step I take.

This isn’t over.

And as much as I want to believe he’s wrong, deep down, I know he’s right.

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