Chapter 2

The air inside the lighthouse keeper’s quarters was thick, heavy with the scent of old wax, salt spray, and the electric tension that had been coiling between us since the sun began its descent. We had retreated from the main gallery, that crowded, laughing space where guests clinked glasses and danced to the soft jazz playlist, into the narrow, spiraling corridor that led to the private observation deck. It was quieter here, the roar of the Atlantic below muffled by thick stone walls, but the silence felt louder, more pregnant with unsaid things. My heels clicked against the wooden floorboards, a rhythmic countdown to something inevitable. I could feel his gaze on my back, a physical weight pressing between my shoulder blades, hot and demanding. He hadn’t spoken much since we left the party, but his presence was a tangible force, wrapping around me like a second skin. I knew he was watching the sway of my hips, the way the silk of my slip dress clung to my curves, the way my legs moved beneath the hem. I stopped at the top of the stairs, turning to face him. The corridor was dim, illuminated only by the warm glow