From Best Friend To Fiancé (Savannah and Roman) novel Chapter 75

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**From Best Friend To Fiancé**

**Chapter 75**

**Chapter 47: You’ve Always Been Mine, Savannah**

The night enveloped me in a cool embrace, sharp and invigorating, carrying the faint scent of impending rain as I discreetly slipped away from the vibrant chaos of the rehearsal dinner. The laughter and clinking of glasses faded into a distant echo, replaced by the tranquil hush of the gardens surrounding the restaurant. My heart raced, a steady thrum that resonated through my trembling hands as I leaned against the rough stone wall, desperately inhaling a breath that felt just out of reach.

It was then that I heard him before I even laid eyes on him—the steady, unhurried rhythm of his footsteps, as if he possessed an innate sense of where I would be. And indeed, he did.

My body, traitorous and unyielding, responded to his presence before I could even process it.

“Sav.” His voice caressed my skin, low and laced with an undercurrent of something dangerously alluring. He stepped closer, his warmth brushing against my back, his hand finding my shoulder—firm yet gentle, anchoring me. “You’re not okay.”

The area where his hand rested felt like it was igniting, a sudden wave of heat coursing through me, prickling my skin.

I nodded, but the words I wanted to say fled my lips. “I’m fine.”

“Clearly, you’re not.” His gaze locked onto mine, a piercing look that held me captive. “Who was that guy?”

“Henry. One of Dean’s lackeys.” My throat constricted, the name alone stirring a tempest of emotions within me.

“I should kill him.” The words slipped from his lips so quietly that they barely disturbed the air between us.

Oddly enough, it didn’t sound like a casual threat; it felt more like a promise.

“No need,” I murmured, though my heart raced at the thought. “He’s always been an asshole. I couldn’t stand him back in college.”

“He humiliated you. Being an asshole isn’t an excuse,” he countered, his voice low and fierce.

“Just let it go,” I whispered, my gaze inadvertently skimming over his mouth, betraying my thoughts.

His jaw tightened, a muscle flexing beneath the skin. “Why do you let people walk all over you?”

“Because…” My voice faltered. “…it’s easier to stroke the heel when you’re down.”

“And you’re one overprotective fake fiancé,” I teased, feeling an unexpected thrill as my body responded to his proximity, my nipples straining against the fabric of my bodice.

He noticed, his eyes darkening with a mix of desire and frustration. “You’re driving me insane,” he growled, the words vibrating with a tension that was almost palpable. His hand lingered on my hip, a heartbeat too long, and I found myself unable to move.

The air thickened between us, charged with an electric anticipation, like the calm before a storm. His thumb brushed my waist, igniting a spark that shot straight to the core of my longing. I told myself to step back, to create distance before things escalated further. But my body had other plans, betraying me in ways I couldn’t comprehend.

“You should go,” I whispered, though my fingers curled instinctively into the fabric of his jacket, unwilling to let him slip away.

He smirked, a glimmer of mischief dancing in his eyes. “Do you really want me to?” His breath was warm against my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

The truth was, I didn’t want him to leave—not in the slightest. But the way my lips parted, the way my knees felt weak beneath me, told him everything he needed to know.