The sudden weight against him sent Xavier Thorne's world tilting. A jolt, like a live wire, coursed through him, freezing his limbs. He felt the soft brush of her hair against his jaw, the warmth of her body as she began to slump.
His arms started to lift, a reflex, but before he could react, she was swiftly pulled away.
Ethan Shaw steadied Molly, his brow furrowed with concern. "Molly! What happened?" His voice was tight.
Being pulled upright jolted Molly back to awareness. She blinked rapidly, shaking her head as if to clear cobwebs. "Ugh… fine. Just… been awake for like, 36 hours straight. Hit a wall." She offered a weak, embarrassed smile.
Ethan exhaled, relief palpable. He turned to Xavier, an apologetic note in his voice. "Mr. Thorne, my deepest apologies. My sister suffers from severe insomnia. She hasn't slept at all. That was… purely accidental." *Please don't think she's some kind of con artist,* he silently pleaded.
Xavier Thorne, the epitome of cool, unflappable grace, seemed utterly unfazed by having a stunning woman faint against him. *The rumors might be true,* Ethan couldn't help but think. Xavier Thorne was famously private, and whispers about his disinterest in women—or perhaps interest elsewhere—had swirled for years. Seeing Molly, who'd been universally adored back in high school, fail to elicit even a flicker of reaction… well, it lent credence to the theory. And if anyone could make a man immune to feminine charm, it was probably his fiercely competitive, equally brilliant high school rival.
Molly felt the heat crawl up her neck, mortification setting in. *Get it together, body!* She forced herself to meet Xavier's gaze, offering a sheepish grin. "Right. Actually… that's sort of why I'm here."
Xavier turned away slightly, ostensibly to smooth his impeccable ivory silk shirt, masking the tremor in his hands and the lingering electric sensation where she'd touched him. "Please," he gestured towards the seating area, his voice miraculously level. "Sit."
The living room centered around a striking, deep emerald green Chesterfield sofa. Molly's eyes widened in surprise. "You kept it!" she breathed, a genuine smile touching her lips for the first time.
Xavier settled onto the familiar leather, his long legs crossing with effortless elegance. He subtly adjusted his jacket. "It serves its purpose," he replied casually, his gaze drifting over her. "Why?"
Molly sank into the plush cushion, her fingers tracing the rich leather with a touch of nostalgia. "I remember ordering this from a bespoke workshop in Florence. Cost a small fortune back then." *Who knew the notoriously discerning Xavier Thorne was also… practical?* She recalled vaguely that his family hadn't been particularly affluent in high school; his uniform sweaters always looked a little too worn. Some habits died hard, even with billions.
The space between them felt charged, the air thick with unspoken history. Xavier consciously regulated his breathing, keeping his expression neutral, his gaze carefully averted from the faint shadows beneath her eyes. "This residence… it belonged to your family?"
Molly nodded, leaning forward slightly. "Yes. That's why I'm here, Xavier. I need to buy it back." She pointed to the dark smudges beneath her eyes. "See these? They're practically auditioning for a panda exhibit at the Bronx Zoo. Surely you don't want your old classmate collapsing from exhaustion?" She injected a note of weary humor, though it felt like a cheap shot. She hated playing the pity card, but desperation was a powerful motivator. Her insomnia wasn't a joke; she remembered collapsing in class once after days without sleep, the frantic ambulance ride. Her body simply refused to rest anywhere else.
Xavier's gaze flickered to the shadows she indicated, then swiftly refocused on the crystal ashtray on the coffee table. "I regret to say," he stated smoothly, "I have no intention of selling."
Ethan, perched stiffly on the edge of an adjacent armchair – feeling distinctly junior in the presence of true, established power – interjected. His fingers nervously traced the obsidian worry stones on his wrist. "Mr. Thorne, we're prepared to be exceptionally flexible on terms. This… really is our last resort. We understand this property isn't exactly prime real estate anymore; the neighborhood's become quite… exclusive. Quiet." *Too quiet,* he implied. "Ah, forgive my manners. Ethan Shaw, CEO of SparkLight Group." He straightened his posture. "We've recently launched 'The Enclave at Silver Lake' – perhaps you've heard of it? Ultra-luxury, bespoke estates. I'd be honored to offer you the premier plot. Think ten acres, contemporary architectural masterpiece with panoramic views, infinity pool, state-of-the-art security… significantly more space and amenities than here. Would that be of interest?"
Molly shot her brother a grateful look. *Okay, Ethan. Points redeemed.* Cash or a killer trade? Surely Xavier would bite on one.
The butler, standing discreetly near the doorway, nearly choked. The market value of this townhouse paled in comparison to the reported asking prices at Silver Lake. *Only a fool would turn that down!*
Xavier offered a faint, utterly polite smile. "My apologies. I remain uninterested in selling."
The butler's professional facade cracked for a nanosecond. *Unbelievable.*
"May I ask why?" Molly pressed, shifting closer on the sofa. Her scent – something fresh and subtly floral – washed over him. Her face, luminous even with fatigue, was suddenly much nearer. Those wide, intelligent eyes held his, demanding an answer.
Xavier's throat tightened. He picked up his untouched glass of water, took a deliberate sip, the movement drawing attention to the sharp line of his jaw and the subtle bob of his Adam's apple. He set the glass down with precise control. "Why?" he echoed, his voice deceptively mild. His gaze, behind the silver-framed glasses, was deep and unreadable, like polished obsidian.
Molly blinked. *Oh. He's asking why I need it so badly.* Right. Of course. Money meant nothing to him now. He was the same as he'd always been – outwardly courteous, impeccably groomed, radiating an aura of calm intelligence, yet fundamentally distant, almost detached. She remembered how, in high school hallways, his gaze would slide right past hers as if she were invisible. Probably resented her for constantly challenging his top ranking. *Typical Xavier.*
Seeing her momentary confusion, Xavier allowed himself a fraction of a second longer to memorize the curve of her cheek, the slight part of her lips revealing a glimpse of pink tongue. A dangerous, primal urge surged – the impulse to close the distance, to feel that softness against his own. He clenched his fist, the sharp pressure of his thumbnail digging into his palm (a barely healed paper cut flared) anchoring him back to reality. He adjusted his glasses, lowering his gaze. "I've grown accustomed to it. Change is… disruptive."
Ethan's thumb rubbed obsessively over a smooth obsidian bead. *Dead end.* When money and prime real estate couldn't move the needle, things got complicated. He glanced helplessly at Molly.
Molly felt the weight of the situation pressing down. Xavier had been surprisingly courteous in providing a reason, and it was a valid one. She wouldn't want to move if she were settled either. Her natural pride warred with necessity. *She* was the one asking the favor. Time to ditch the entitled heiress act.
Leaning even closer, Molly turned on the charm, her eyes sparkling with manufactured camaraderie. "Xavier Thorne," she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial level, "I have a sneaking suspicion you don't actually remember who I am. I mean, I *died* in a car crash. Eleven years ago. And now… poof! Here I am. Aren't you the *least* bit curious?" *Right. Reconnect first, negotiate later. Duh.*
The proximity was intoxicating, overwhelming. Her warmth radiated against him, her scent enveloping him. Xavier's pulse hammered against his ribs, heat creeping up his neck, making the tips of his ears burn. This was the closest they'd ever been. His gaze fixated helplessly on her lips – their soft curve, the tempting hint of pink. The logical part of his brain shut down completely. All coherent thought dissolved into a single, searing impulse: *Kiss her.*
The raw intensity of the desire shocked him. He clenched his fist tighter, the sharp sting from his palm cutting through the haze. He wrenched his gaze away, focusing on a distant painting. "Hmm," he managed, the syllable utterly devoid of inflection.
Molly's smile faltered. *Hmm?* That was it? After her dramatic revelation? She cleared her throat awkwardly. "Look, since we're old classmates, I'll level with you. No BS." She leaned in, her voice dropping to a dramatic whisper. "I didn't just come back from the dead. I *time-traveled*. From eleven years ago. Seriously. You… believe me?" She held her breath.
Ethan's eyes widened to saucers. *She just told him?!* He hadn't even confided that in Carla!
The butler barely suppressed an eye roll. *Time-travel? Right. Next she'll claim she's the long-lost heir to the British throne. Utter nonsense.*
Xavier Thorne met her earnest, slightly desperate gaze. A slow, enigmatic smile touched his lips, softening the sharp lines of his face. He raised his water glass again, perhaps to hide the slight tremor, perhaps just to stall. "Of course I believe you, Molly."
The butler's carefully cultivated composure shattered. His jaw actually dropped. *He… what?* The world suddenly felt very unstable. *Who in their right mind…?*