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I felt him. Hard against my hip, unmistakable through the fine wool of his trousers. The discovery sent a rush of heat through me. This composed man, who had stood in my office this morning asking measured questions about reconstruction timelines, had been carrying this the entire time.

I rolled my hips against him, slow and entirely on purpose, and felt the breath leave him in a rush against my mouth.

“Emilia.” Low, and rougher than I had ever heard it.

“Mm.” I did it again. “Something wrong?”

His mouth found my throat. His breath came warm against my skin first, raising goosebumps down the length of my arm. Then his lips were on me, open and tasting, his tongue dragging slowly up the line of my throat to just beneath my ear. My fingers curled into his shirt. Heat pooled low in me and I felt myself go slick between my thighs. The sound I made was not one I had given permission for.

“You,” he said against my skin, “have no idea what you do to me.”

“I have some idea.” My voice came out unsteady. “I can feel you against me.”

He went still. Then he laughed, a low, wrecked sound against my collarbone. He rested his forehead there before lifting his head.

“You are going to be a problem.”

* * *

Once we had composed ourselves, we stepped back out into the corridor and started toward home.

His hand slipped into mine naturally, and I curled my fingers around his.

“The third cohort reconstruction is ahead of schedule,” I said.

“I know.”

“Priya thinks we can begin the new trial series by mid-month.”

“That’s good news.”

Before I knew it, we were standing in front of my door. I unlocked it and turned back toward him. “Good night, Alexander.”

His gaze found mine, and the world seemed to narrow to the space between us. Then, with a tenderness that had become unmistakably his, he brushed his fingertips lightly along my cheek.

“Good night, Emilia.”

He started to turn away. Without thinking, I caught his hand. He stopped immediately and looked back at me.

“Would you like to come in for a minute?” I asked.

“I’d like that.”

I stepped aside and he followed me inside. The door clicked softly shut behind us.

For a heartbeat, we stood there. Then he crossed the small distance between us. His arm came around my waist at the same time his lips touched mine. This kiss was slow for only a second before something deeper surfaced beneath it. He pulled me against him and I felt the composure that always surrounded him give way to unmistakable longing.

My hands found his shoulders before slipping around his neck. I answered his kiss without hesitation, utterly surprised by how quickly the rest of the world disappeared. There was only Alexander, the sureness of his touch, and the impossible feeling of finally allowing myself to stop thinking.

His forehead hovered near mine. He lifted his chin and pressed his lips to my temple, lingering against my hair. He drew a slow breath. I felt him go still.

“I’ve been trying very hard to behave myself all afternoon,” he murmured, almost to himself. “You’re making that increasingly difficult.”

I lifted my hand to his face, my fingertips tracing along his jaw before slipping into his hair.

“Then perhaps…” I whispered, “you don’t have to try quite so hard.”

He gave up, closing his eyes briefly. He kissed me again, nothing careful in it. His arm tightened around me, pulling me close enough to feel his heart going as hard as mine. I grabbed a fistful of his shirt, and my fingers found the bare skin at his open collar. The heat of him, finally mine to touch.