Her head tilts back, bringing her lips back within reach of mine.
“This will only complicate things,” I warn.
“I know.”
“You do not know what this does.”
“To whom?”
“To my focus. To your safety. To the line I need in place.”
Her gaze searches mine. “And what does pretending do?”
I do not answer.
Because that is the question I have been avoiding since she walked out of my room last night.
What does pretending do?
It does not unmake the kiss.
It does not erase the fact that my body has been aware of hers every moment since.
It does not make her safer if the only thing it does is turn both of us into liars.
But acting on it could be worse.
Much worse.
“Adrian,” she says softly.
My name in her mouth is a problem.
It has been since the first time she said it, even when she hated me.
She reaches for my towel.
I catch her wrist before she touches it.
Her skin is warm under my fingers.
For a second, we just stand there. Her pulse beats fast beneath my thumb. Mine is no better.
“Last chance,” I tell her.
Her eyes lift to mine. “For what?”
“For you to pick up the robe and walk out.”
Her breathing changes.
She presses closer, her wrist still in my hand.
“And if I don’t?”
The last of my self-control goes out the window.
I release her wrist only to slide my hand up her back and into her hair.
