"Don’t." The word came out sharp, his eyes harder. "Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to."
I held his gaze. "Maybe I need to hear you say it."
"I’ve said it. And you told me I was your boss and nothing more." He took a step toward me, then stopped himself. "So I came here. To stop wanting it. To stop feeling it. And you followed me."
"Yes, I followed you." I stepped closer. "Because you disappeared!" The words came out loud. "You left without a word. I sat at that desk for a week not knowing if you were okay or not."
He stared at me. "You were worried about me?"
My chest squeezed—the emotions playing across his usually rigid face. Confusion mixed with hope. Caution and wildness.
"Of course I was worried about you. What do you think I’m doing here, sightseeing?"
"If you’re just worried, I don’t need it. I don’t want your pity." The coldness was back in his voice.
"Pity?" I almost laughed. "You think I pity you? I left my best friend’s couch, borrowed her car, which she loves more than me by the way, drove through a storm that nearly killed me twice, and showed up on your porch looking like a drowned cat. That’s not pity. Pity sends a fruit basket."
He didn’t respond. His expression remained shuttered.
"So what’s the plan?" I shrugged. "Stay in the mountains until it goes away? Continue to ignore me? Build a second cabin further up the mountain in case this one isn’t remote enough?"
"If necessary." He pushed strands of hair from his face. "Look, Anna. I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to want you without it consuming me."
He turned away from me slightly, his hand gripping the back of his neck.
"I don't know how to be near you without my brain turning you into a project it needs to solve. I study your arrival times. I drew your face from memory in charcoal because I couldn't sleep and your expression in the elevator wouldn't leave my head."
His hand dropped. He looked at me, and there was nothing guarded left in his face.
"That's not normal, Anna. None of this is normal for me." He exhaled heavily. "And I can't make it stop. I've tried."
Another breath. Slower this time, like he was pulling himself back together by force.
"You should go back. I'll return to the office. We'll sort this out like professionals."
"Professionals." I glanced at the portrait of my face on the easel, then down at the sweater I was wearing, his sweater, the one I'd taken from his bathroom without asking. "Sure. Very professional. This whole situation screams HR compliance."
Thunder rumbled outside.
The storm wouldn't stop anytime soon.
CHAPTER 17
Anna
The rain turned into a downpour so heavy it sounded like the sky was being emptied by hand.
Jace checked the weather on his phone three times in ten minutes. The third time, he locked the screen, and set it face down on the counter. "The roads are flooded. You can’t drive back tonight," he said, grim and resigned.
"I can wait it out."
"The forecast says it won’t stop until morning."
We looked at each other. "The guest room is at the end of the hall," he said reluctantly.
The guest room looked like it had been prepared for a hotel inspection. The bed was made with corners so sharp I half believed he'd used a ruler. A robe was folded on the pillow, a sealed bottle of water on the nightstand, and beside it, a new toothbrush still in its packaging next to a small tube of toothpaste. Everything placed, everything considered, everything thought through before I'd even agreed to stay.
I soaked in the warm bath until my fingers pruned and the cold from the drive finally left my bones. Then I put on the robe. White. Soft.
