Jack noticed it the moment he leaned in.
The soft amber light from the bedside lamp fell across her cheekbones, catching the faintest tremor in her lashes. Evelyn sat on the edge of the bed, her silk robe slipping off one shoulder, but she still wouldn’t meet his eyes.
He reached out slowly, fingertips grazing the back of her hand. Her skin was warm—almost too warm—and she didn’t pull away. But her gaze stayed fixed on the floor, breath shallow, chest rising and falling beneath the robe’s loose knot.
“Evie…” Jack murmured, voice low, almost rough.
She didn’t answer, but he saw her swallow hard, lips parting slightly before pressing together again. That tiny, careful gesture said more than words could.
Jack shifted closer, his knee brushing hers, the fabric of his jeans grazing her bare skin. She inhaled sharply, just once, and her robe slipped a little farther, exposing the delicate slope of her collarbone.
Still, she wouldn’t look at him.
Slowly, deliberately, he touched her chin, lifting it with the softest pressure. Her face tilted toward him, but her eyes stayed lowered, lashes trembling like she was holding back something dangerous.
When she finally glanced up, it was quick—half a second, maybe less—but he caught it. A flash of heat, of something unspoken and heavy.
“Why won’t you look at me?” he whispered.
Her answer came on a shaky breath. “Because if I do… I won’t be able to stop.”
Silence filled the room. Her confession hung between them, electric and fragile.
Jack leaned in slowly, his cheek brushing hers, his hand sliding to the small of her back. He could feel the tension in her muscles, the restraint, the hesitation mixed with something far deeper. Her lips were just inches away now, her breath warm against his skin.
She turned her face slightly—not away this time, but toward him. Her nose grazed his. A pause. A single beat where neither dared move further.
Then her hand, trembling, rested against his chest. Not pushing him away. Not pulling him closer. Just… there.
“Jack,” she whispered, almost pleading, “this is wrong.”
“Then why are you still here?” he murmured back, his thumb tracing the curve of her jaw.
Her eyes finally locked on his, and it was like a dam breaking. Every silent thought, every forbidden want—they were all there, exposed in that gaze.
The robe slid lower, gravity doing what hesitation couldn’t, and for the first time, she didn’t fix it.
Jack leaned in, slower than slow, savoring every fraction of a second—the soft brush of her hair against his cheek, the shaky rise of her chest, the faint hitch in her breathing when his hand moved to cover hers.
When their lips finally met, it wasn’t gentle. It was years of restraint unraveling in an instant, a quiet hunger neither wanted to name.
And in that moment, Jack understood—sometimes avoiding eye contact doesn’t mean resistance. Sometimes, it means there’s too much to hide… and even more to want.
