His Knees, His Pleas, But Our Son's in Peace

Chapter 37

We both turned to see Carlos standing a few feet away, his trench coat billowing

slightly in the breeze. His presence was like a force of nature, powerful and

undeniable. He didn't move, but the look in his eyes was enough to freeze Nathan in place.

Carlos didn't respond to him. His eyes remained locked on mine, and in that moment, something shifted. There was a connection, something deep and

unspoken, that passed between us. My wolf stirred inside me, agitated and

restless, as if sensing something in Carlos that I hadn't noticed before. His wolf, too, seemed to respond, though neither of us said a word.

Carlos stepped forward, his hand outstretched toward me. Without thinking, I took it, his grip firm but steady. He didn't need to pull me away; I followed him instinctively, leaving Nathan behind as Carlos led me away from the bench and back toward the street. The bodyguards appeared from the shadows, moving in to block Nathan's path as he tried to follow. "Doris, wait!" Nathan's voice cracked with desperation, but I didn't look back.

his hand still gently holding mine. The tension between us was palpable, but there was something else too-something I couldn't quite place.

intensity of the moment. Carlos's face remained impassive, but

turning to face me. For a moment, we stood in silence,

primal, that neither of

left my mind. It followed us all the

in silence toward the parking lot, the night air cool against my flushed skin. There was a

the alcohol; it was Carlos-his calm, steady demeanor, his quiet strength. Something had shifted between us, and it

gestured for me to get in. I slid into the passenger seat, trying to ignore the way my pulse quickened

rounded the car to the

I could feel the warmth of the alcohol buzzing in my veins, making me more aware of everything-his scent, the way his fingers tightened on the steering wheel, the way

glanced at Carlos, studying the hard line of his jaw, the calm focus in his expression. But there was something

his arm. The touch was light, almost innocent, but it sent a jolt through me, igniting something between us. I expected him to pull away, to reestablish that boundary he always seemed to keep. But he didn't. His muscles tensed beneath my fingers, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he let out a slow, controlled breath, his grip on the

whispered, my voice barely audible