“It was always the answer.”
His gaze lifted fully to mine.
The distance between us felt indecently small, though I had not moved.
“I liked the way you looked at me when you trusted me,” I said. “I liked how bold you became when you knew you were safe. I liked that you could make me lose control and still make me feel more in control of myself than I had ever been.”
A tremor passed through his hand.
I forced my voice lower.
“I liked making you feel wanted.”
“Did I?”
“Did you what?”
“Feel wanted.”
My chest tightened.
“You never had reason to doubt it.”
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then Noah swallowed.
“Did I want you?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
I should have chosen a careful answer.
I did not.
“Enough that we sometimes locked the office door during lunch.”
His inhalation was sharp.
Regret followed immediately.
“Noah—”
“No. Don’t retreat.”
His eye remained on mine.
“I’m all right.”
“You’re flushed.”
“So are you.”
I said nothing.
He looked down at the photograph.
