Dorian nodded slowly, but she could see the effort it took for him to accept her reassurance. They finished their dinner in contemplative silence, though Harper remained hyperaware of the way his gaze kept finding her face, as if he wanted to say something important but couldn't quite find the words.
Finally, as they set down their napkins, Dorian cleared his throat. "Would you like to sit by the fire with me?" His voice carried a rougher quality than usual. "We could get to know each other better."
Every professional instinct Harper possessed screamed that she should politely decline and maintain appropriate boundaries. But something in his tone—a vulnerability beneath the alpha authority—made her pulse quicken.
"Alright," she heard herself saying, already reaching for her wine glass.
Dorian stood and collected his own glass, his large frame moving with that predatory grace she was beginning to recognize. Harper followed him from the dining room, down a corridor lined with more of his beautiful woodwork, until they reached a spacious living area dominated by a massive stone fireplace.
The room embodied the same careful craftsmanship she'd noticed throughout the house—built-in bookshelves filled with worn volumes, comfortable leather furniture arranged to encourage conversation, and windows that would offer stunning mountain views during daylight hours.
Professional boundaries,she reminded herself firmly.
The flames caught with a soft whoosh as Dorian knelt before the massive stone fireplace, his broad shoulders moving beneath the dark henley as he coaxed the kindling to life. Harper settled onto the leather couch, wine glass cradled between her palms, watching the play of muscle beneath fabric with far more attention than was appropriate. The fire cast dancing shadows across the room's rich wood paneling, transforming the space from merely welcoming to something that felt dangerously intimate.
This is just conversation,she reminded herself firmly, taking a steadying sip of wine.Professional courtesy. Getting to know each other since I'm treating his sister and staying in his home.
But when Dorian rose and turned toward her, firelight painting golden streaks across his angular features, Harper's breath caught in her throat. Then he moved closer to her, settling onto the couch with careful precision—close enough that his pine and cedar scent wrapped around her like a drug yet maintaining just enough distance to appear respectable.
The restraint in his posture spoke volumes though. Every line of his body radiated tension, as if he was holding himself back from something that would shatter the careful boundaries between them. But his blue eyes held hers with a burning intensity that made her pulse flutter against her throat.
Be professional,she chanted silently, even as heat bloomed low in her belly.
Dorian cleared his throat, the sound rough in the firelit quiet. "Tell me more about yourself. The woman behind the counselor exterior."
Harper forced a casual smile, though her fingers tightened around the wine glass. "There's not much to tell, really. I don't have much of a life outside work and volunteering."
His gaze sharpened with that unnerving perceptiveness she was beginning to recognize. "That's by design, isn't it? I can tell you overwork yourself."
The observation hit too close to home, and Harper felt her carefully constructed walls trembling. Something about this man, this place, the way the firelight made everything feel dream-like and safe—it was dismantling her defenses faster than she could rebuild them. Maybe it was the wine, or the exhaustion of constantly maintaining her professional mask, or the strange way this estate felt more like home than anywhere she'd lived.
"Keeping busy is easier than realizing I push everyone and everything away," she heard herself admitting. "Easier than facing my own needs."
"I can relate to that immensely." His voice carried a weight of understanding that made her chest tight. "Why do you think you do that?"
Harper let out a shaky laugh, edging slightly closer on the couch without conscious thought. "Who's playing counselor now?"
The sound of his laughter sent warmth cascading through her system—rich and genuine and utterly devastating. It transformed his entire face, softening the harsh lines of authority into something achingly human.
"I grew up managing an abusive stepfather," she continued, the words spilling out. "Feeling like I had to control everything around me, putting everyone else's needs first—it just became safer that way."
Dorian's expression darkened with something fierce and protective. He inched closer, close enough that she could see the silver flecks in his blue eyes. "I'm sorry you had to endure that. You deserved someone to protect you, keep you safe."
"That was a long time ago." Harper's voice came out breathier than intended. "I'm fine now. I have a career, people who value my expertise?—"
"Are you really fine, though?" He moved closer still, his voice dropping to a rumble that seemed to resonate in her bones. "Are you really fulfilled? Do people actually see you?"
The questions stripped her bare, leaving her feeling exposed and vulnerable in ways that terrified her. Every instinct screamed at her to flee, to rebuild her walls and retreat to safety. Instead, she found herself leaning toward him as if drawn by some magnetic force beyond her control.
"I'm not fulfilled," she whispered, her gaze dropping to his mouth. "But for some strange reason, right now I feel like you can see me."
"I do see you." His hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing across her skin with reverent gentleness. Their faces were inches apart now, his breath warm against her lips. "I see a woman starved for love?—"
The last thread of Harper's control snapped.
She closed the distance between them, capturing his lips in a kiss that was desperate and hungry and everything she'dbeen denying herself. Her hands tangled in his dark hair as he responded with equal fervor, one large hand threading through her waves while the other cradled her face like she was something precious.
The kiss consumed her completely. This was nothing like the polite, comfortable affection she'd shared with Matt—this was raw and primal and perfect, like finding oxygen after a lifetime of suffocating. Dorian's mouth moved against hers with skilled intensity, their tongues tangling in a dance that sent heat flooding through her entire body.
