He stepped inside, his footsteps echoing in the vast, empty lobby. The air was still, thick with the scent of old wood and floor polish. He followed the sound of a faint rustling noise, down a narrow hallway to a door propped open with a stack of books. A simple, hand-lettered sign was taped to it: ARCHIVES.
He followed the stairs down to the basement, the air growing cooler and dustier with each step. The cavernous space was exactly as he remembered—crammed with metal shelving units sagging under the weight of countless boxes and folders. Asingle bare bulb burned in the center of the room, casting long, distorted shadows. And in the middle of it all, surrounded by towers of precariously stacked files, was Chloe.
She was on her knees, sorting through a cardboard box, her back to him. She’d taken off her coat and scarf, and the simple dress she wore beneath clung to the curve of her spine and the gentle swell of her hips. She hummed softly, a slightly off-key tune that made his chest ache.
Hyde went utterly, dangerously still.
He should leave. He should turn around, walk out, and pretend he’d never been here. He could call Houston tomorrow, make his case rationally as a doctor and a concerned citizen. Instead, he cleared his throat.
She jumped, a small gasp escaping her lips as she twisted around. Her eyes widened when she saw him.
“Dr. Jackson? What are you doing here?”
“The door was unlocked,” he said roughly. “I was passing by and saw the light. I was concerned there might be a trespasser.”
It was a flimsy lie and he knew it. Her brow furrowed, her expression shifting from surprise to suspicion.
“Here in the town archives? I doubt there’s anything worth stealing.”
“Some people are very protective of the town’s records.” He managed a thin smile. “What are you still doing here? It’s after five.”
“Working.” She gestured at the chaotic piles surrounding her. “It’s a bigger job than I thought, but it’s fascinating. I found abox of town meeting minutes from the 1920s. You should hear some of the debates they had about installing the first traffic light.”
Her face lit up with an enthusiasm that made her even more beautiful. The same fire that had appeared when she’d defied him about the job. Passionate. Stubborn. And utterly alone.
Hyde stirred.Ours.
“Have you eaten?” The question was out before he could stop it.
Her head tilted. “I’m sorry?”
“Since your appointment. Have you eaten since then?”
She stared at him, her mouth slightly agape. “No. I haven’t.”
“It’s after five.”
“You said that already.” A flicker of amusement crossed her face. “Are you going to lecture me about eating as well?”
“I’m going to tell you that you’re pregnant and you need to eat.” He took a step closer, into the circle of light. “You’ve been in this dusty basement for hours. It’s time to go home and rest.”
Her chin rose as she stared up at him and for a moment he was afraid she was going to argue. But then she sighed and pushed herself to her feet, her movements stiff. He could see the exhaustion in the lines of her face, the faint bruised shadows under her eyes. She put a hand to the small of her back and winced, a small, unconscious gesture of pain.
The growl started deep in his chest, a low, possessive rumble of fury. He was across the space before he could think, his hands closing on her shoulders.
“Are you hurt?”
Her breath caught at his touch, her body tensing. “I’m fine. Just a little sore from bending over. The baby’s been kicking up a storm today.”
He could feel the warmth of her body beneath the thin fabric of her dress and her delicate bone structure under his hands. Every instinct screamed at him to pull her closer and carry her out of this basement and somewhere safe.
Instead, he forced himself to drop his hands and take a step back, his fists clenched at his sides. “You shouldn’t be down here. Your back shouldn’t be aching. You shouldn’t be exhausted.” The words came out in a sharp, clipped tone. “I’m calling Houston. This ends now.”
Her chin rose again, those warm brown eyes flashing with fire. “You will not. This is my job now. It was my decision and you don’t get to waltz in here and dictate my life because you don’t like the working conditions.”
“This isn’t about the working conditions! This is about your well-being and the well-being of your child.” He gestured at the dusty shelves. “This entire place is a breeding ground for mold. The air quality is atrocious. You’ve been breathing this in for hours.”
“I’m pregnant, not made of glass,” she shot back. “My grandmother spent her entire life working in worse conditions than this, and she raised three children. I think I can handle a few boxes of old paper.”
